A/N: It has been nearly 2 years since I last updated this (crazy). I decided that instead of continuing to post new chapters it would be better to give the entire story a facelift. Two years is a LONG time. Hopefully, my writing style as well as story telling abilities have improved with time *fingers crossed* For the most part, I'll try and stick with the same basic characters and plot line (kinda). Hope you enjoy! Please subscribe (if you want lol) and I really appreciate comments as to how I can improve on the next chapter.
Chapter 1: Home, Sweet Home
Gaara
A cool breeze dances against the curtains and into the spacious room, kissing Gaara's bare chest. A bit of sunshine tries, in vain, to peek into the room from behind the darkened curtains. Sitting on the floor, his eyes dart about, surveying the area. Everything in the room is black-from the curtains to the sheets to the walls. Colourful canvases and charcoal sketches done in brilliant hues on sheets of paper cut through the darkness of his room. Scattered around him on the floor are paintbrushes; new and old, and tubes of paint; empty and full. There is something serene amid all the chaos in the dark room. Slowly, the young man stands from the cluttered floor. Flinching, he slowly steps out of his pants and boxer briefs; walking to the bathroom. Gaara catches his reflection in the mirror as he walks into the bathroom. Unruly, fiery curls frame his flawless, pale skin. His sea foam green eyes look neither dead nor alive and are surrounded by thick lids, dark with insomnia, drawing attention to his face before said attention is stolen by a blood red, "Ai," or, "Love," tattoo on his temple. Instead of making him look ghoulish, all the features combine in a manner that makes him devilishly handsome.
Sighing, he steps into the shower. Hot water hits his sore muscles, easing them. Gaara hesitates before slowly biting on his thumb, drawing blood.
"I'm alive…" he mumbles, his voice shaking.
The warm water cascades through his curls.
…
"Where the hell is that little brat?"
Gaara hears his father's annoying voice inquire as to his whereabouts as he quietly shuffles into the enormous kitchen. An empty seat besides his father awaits him at the large mahogany dining table. A plate of eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce on a lightly toasted English muffin along with a side of fresh pomegranate juice is set before him. Eyes fixed on the plate, Gaara takes his seat. A horrible silence overtakes the dining hall.
"You're going looking like that?"
Gaara stares down at his white fitted shirt, skinny jeans, and black flip flops, not saying anything.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you damnit!" Large, angry fists slam down on the table, knocking over the crystal glass full of juice.
The older man abruptly stands up, pulling his son up by the front of his shirt.
"You have 3 seconds to answer or so help me God," he hisses through clenched teeth.
"Daddy please stop!"
The man pauses. Abruptly, he lets go of his son, pushing him backwards.
Gaara's cold green eyes lock with the dark angry eyes of his father. With the exception of his fiery red curls, and alabaster skin, Gaara was the spitting image of his dark haired, tanned father.
"I'll give you one more chance," he starts.
A smirk slowly spreads across Gaara's face.
"Damn you boy!"
"Dad!"
"What?!" he screams angrily, turning around.
"Please leave him alone."
The man lets out a sigh. A weak smile appears on his face. "I'm sorry if I upset you princess," he says, pulling his daughter into his arms. He places his face atop her blonde hair, letting out a long sigh. He pulls back to examine her. Temari's teal eyes are filled with tears; her pale skin is flushed.
"Dad, give him a break, he's just a kid," 21 year old Temari says lightly.
Their father sighs and turns to his son, a sheepish look on his face.
"Gaara-" the older man starts.
Gaara stares at his father, a bored look on his face. He turns and walks back to his room.
…
Sighing, Gaara puts the last oil painting in the cardboard box before wrapping it with bubble wrap. His door opens.
"Hey bro, you ready?" asks his older brother Kankuro, walking in with Temari.
Gaara quietly stares at his siblings. Twenty year old Kankuro is a big man-6' like Gaara but with broader shoulders and rippling muscles. His skin is slightly tanned with dark brown eyes like his fathers, and dark brown hair that is neatly styled with gel. He has on a charcoal grey 3 piece suit with a white, perfectly starched dress shirt, a golden tie, and chocolate brown oxfords.
Temari, stands at about 5'6. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is pinned up in a neat bun. Around her slender neck is a string of pearls. Her pale skin has a dusty rose flush about it; her teal eyes are shining. She has on a cream coloured gathered crepe sheathe dress with three-quarter sleeves that hugs her large bosom and slim figure, and a pair of nude pumps.
"I see you decided to change," he says, referring to Gaara's white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black dress pants, and black oxfords.
"Yeah," he finally says.
"Gaara," Temari starts, "are you sure you can't stay?"
"Positive," he says quickly. "I told father I would be out after the meeting was over."
He makes eye contact with his sister. Her eyes are filled with tears. Gaara frowns.
"You know I can always still visit you right?" he says quietly.
Temari smiles at him, the tears falling despite her best efforts to prevent them from doing so.
…
Their father looks up from his watch. "Took you long enough," he mutters, "let's go."
Temari, Kankuro, Gaara, and their father walk out of their enormous house into the cool, November air. The driver starts up the Bentley Continental Flying Spur, opening the door for them. The four of them quietly get in, not saying anything. The car drives down the marble driveway, and passed the lawn fountain in the centre of the estate surrounded by clipped hedges; a maze and gazebo nearby. Gaara stares out the windows as the car pulls out of the large, wrought-iron gates. Sakura trees, not yet in bloom, sit on either end of the roads, seemly ready to grasp their car in a warm embrace. Gaara hears his father and Kankuro talking about taking the company public as his eyes slowly close. His eyes abruptly jerk open when he feels someone lightly tap his knee.
"We're here," Temari says gently.
They step out of the car into the sunlight.
Cars race about on the streets, eager to get to their destinations. Men and women in suits mill about speaking into Bluetooth devices, I-phones, and Blackberries.
"We're in the business district," Temari says near his ear.
Gaara nods his head, taking it all in. Temari grasps the sleeve of his shirt, delicately pulling him along with her. Kankuro and their father walk ahead, heading towards the steps of a tall, glass building. The doors open, pouring out a flood of men in dark suits and briefcases. Temari and Gaara walk in after their father and brother, stopping in the lobby.
"Mori & Satō, est. 1850" is engraved in a solid gold plate on the wall.
A tall, skinny woman with a clipboard in her hands and a Bluetooth in her ear walks towards them. Her dark hair is pulled back in a chignon, a few loose strands kissing the nape of her neck. Her pale skin looks paler against her form fitting navy blue pinstripe skirt suit, and matching stiletto pumps.
"You must be Rasa Sabaku," she says smiling, small lines appearing at the corners of her hazel eyes.
"Yes," he says simply.
She extends her hand. Mr. Sabaku takes it.
"I'm Miyuki Mori. My husband is running a bit late but he instructed me to lead you to the conference room and have you wait there until he arrives…if you could please follow me..." she says, leading them down the marble hallway.
Certificates and awards sit on the walls, protected by glass cases. Marble columns with flowers in silver pots sitting atop them line the sides of the halls; expensive Renaissance, Baroque, and Rococo oil paintings hanging just above them. Gaara's eyes dart from painting to painting, absorbing the paintings. Women, some saints, other naked, are the main subjects of the paintings. A few pastoral and love scenes are depicted.
They stop at a large oak door. On in is a painting of a smiling woman with mahogany skin, laughing milk-chocolate brown eyes, full lips, enormous dimples, and a head of full, black, afro hair sitting on her bare shoulders. Mrs. Mori opens the door.
"If you could please have a seat in here," she says.
In the centre is a large, ebony conference table. Seated at the table are 3 men in dark suits on laptops; lawyers.
Mrs. Mori walks out of the room, muttering to herself.
Exhausted, Gaara closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep as the minutes tick by.
The door opens, causing everyone to look up expectantly. Standing in the doorway, cheeks aflame, is Mrs. Mori. The lawyers go back to their laptops. She walks over to Mr. Sabaku.
"I-I'm so sorry but something arose so my husband won't be here until noon, "she says, clearly embarrassed. "Is there anything in can get you?"
Rasa shakes his head. She turns to Kankuro, Temari, and Gaara. "Do you need anything?" she asks smiling despite her flushed cheeks. They all shake their heads no.
"Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me," she says, gesturing towards in intercom on the table. "Oh, and we have water back there," she says, pointing at a bar that they hadn't noticed at the other end of the room.
"Thank you," Mr. Sabaku replies.
"Please accept my sincerest apologies," she says with a bow, before walking out of the room.
"It's just like Noru to be late on an important day," mutters a clean-shaven lawyer with salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes, clearly agitated.
"Oh, stop complaining Hideki… you're still going to get paid," retorts a black-haired man with dark eyes and heavy eyebrows.
"Eizō is right, Hideki, and knowing Noru, he'll probably pay us extra for the time we spent waiting for him," chimes a chipper young blond with smiling hazel eyes and wisps of facial hair.
The voices begin to fade into the background as Gaara closes his eyes again, his hands crossed around his chest.
It was going to be a long day…