Rating: T; for smoking references

Pairing: Possible LeeXGaara

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this story and myself. Sadly, Ani DiFranco isn't mine either.

Warnings: I'm known for run-on sentences. I just believe that saying more in one sentence leads to profoundness more than I do saying short sentences (although I believe in those, too). Lyrics are in italics. I did not do this in MicroSoft Word, so there was no spell check. Also... the characters' personalities will probably be off horribly in some spots, but damn it--I can only try so hard before it starts sounding too bad.

The Little Folksinger.

There were days I could honestly say, "I didn't want to be here." These were the days that drove me away from the rest of the world. These were the days I wanted to cut myself off emotionally and say to those who asked out of pure respect, "I'm fine." Course, it wasn't like people actually cared if I was feeling depressed or not.

Maybe today wasn't the best day to go out for a harmless drive to a coffee shop filled with folk singer's music, chain smokers in leather jackets, and women with bizarre hair colors who thought wearing push pins through their dimples was a new fashion trend yet to be discovered—it was raining. It was coming down hard enough, that's for sure. The lightening struck in various places, never hitting the same place twice, and the thunder was pounding valiantly along side it.

Finally, I was nearby a coffee shop. It was small and white. The red and blue lights that shone looked misty in the twilight rain, and for a minute, I swore I could see huge, thick puffs of smoke were clogging the windows. The sign read, "Misty Bean." A rather interesting name, I thought; but it was a coffee shop, and coffee shops weren't filled with high school cliques at such a late night.

Inside, it was dark and smoky. The lights were dim; there were small tables all about with a bar in the back and stools. The floor was a funky colored carpet with clashes of dark colors that didn't blend. The tables were mahogany with ashtrays in the center. There were two chairs per table, with the exception of the bar containing several stools. There was a stadium to the left of the bar, and on top of it, was a woman sitting on a typical stool strumming a guitar and singing with a distinct voice.

Finding myself to be feeling rather awkward and embarrassed, I took a seat at a table in the far corner, nearby the stadium. A woman came up to me with her hair pulled back in a careless ponytail, wearing the selected uniform all employees were given; struck a pose that said, "I honestly don't care what you want I'm just here for money." She didn't say anything at first, as if expecting me to automatically tell her what I wanted, and gave me an irritated look. Her eyes were narrow and harsh, her body was thin, her face was long and brutal, and the way her eyebrows stayed so sharp and arched told me that she was probably here as a last resort in a means to make money. She scowled at me and plopped a menu down on my table before walking away. I gave her a slightly confused look, but picked up the laminated folder anyway.

Inside, there were various different types of coffee from several different locations. There were coffees, mochas, lattes, and so forth. Honestly, I was more in the mood for a hot mocha and mints, strange as it was. Sighing heavily, I closed the laminated folder and set it down on the table, casually bringing my arms up so I could rest my chin on my hands, waiting patiently for the short-tempered girl to return. When she did, I told her right off what I wanted so she could write down my order briskly and get out of my hair as soon as possible. She returned a few minutes later with my mocha and a big bowl of mints. Maybe I'll tip her for getting me more mints than I expected, I thought.

Although, I couldn't help but listen to the woman with her guitar singing her vocals with that distinct and unique voice of hers. It was strange because I found most women nowadays were rappers, hip-hop artists, R&B vocalists, country singers, or rockers. She sounded more like a folksinger with her classical facial features, untamed brown and blond hair pulled back into a ponytail that reminded me of dread locks, and a thick body. She bore a heart-warming smile on her face as she sang and looked about the crowd. She looked completely approachable to anybody who was interested. She looked over at me and nodded her head politely to silently say, "Hi," before looking back at her guitar, then the crowd. I looked at the crowd—they were completely infatuated with this woman's voice. I had to admit, I myself was enticed by such a unique voice. And coming from a woman so short!

Taking tiny sips from my mocha, I listened intently on what was coming out of her mouth.

The woman's voice was indeed something mesmerizing and memorable to the ear. To the eye, she wasn't—in my opinion—one of the most beautifully attractive women in the world; but her one-of-a-kind personality and take on life was something to be admired. This woman was definitely courageous—she didn't put her songs on the radio, she didn't use flyers to show her existence, she didn't do anything like that. Her existence was spread like a burning candle's flame around the nation from mouth to mouth from the fans themselves. They believed an artist who would put their whole beings into their songs and discussed anything and everything was someone to be admired. She was blunt but profound, saying as much as one could possibly say in as little words as possible. But it was nonetheless, something beautiful to hear.

I took a sip of my mocha and popped a mint into my mouth; savoring the freshness it granted my mouth. Why was I upset earlier today? I think I forgot. I checked my watch: 11:48. It couldn't seriously be that late already. Ah, well. It wasn't like I had anybody to come home to. Nobody to hug me when I walk through the front door and tell me they love me. Nobody who would worry about why I was coming home so late. Nobody to care if I died in a car crash and cry when they found my body. Maybe that was why I was so nihilistic earlier this afternoon.

The doorbell rang, causing me to wake from my thoughts to see whom this person was walking through the door so late in the evening. My breath hitched in my throat, a brief moment where I had actually forgotten how to breathe. This person was beautiful. He had semi-long black hair that covered his ears. He was slender and tall, wearing a short-sleeved, navy blue shirt that exposed his muscles, and a pair of dark colored blue jeans that seemed to pool around his black tennis shoes. He walked with his head held high and smiled valiantly as he zigzagged around the tables and made his way back to my table. I looked up at him, not sure if I should give him the glare from hell, or to give him the most vacant and confounded look to ever graze my face. He smiled at me and asked if the seat in front of me was taken. I shook my head and he sat down. He placed his chin between his hands, which were upright like mine, and proceeded to cock his head and try to read me.

"You don't talk much, do you?" he asked. He smiled at me as I looked at him.

I mumbled an apology, though I doubted that he had heard me over the strumming of the guitar and the voice coming through the microphone on the stage blasting through the speakers throughout the shop. Funny how such a small outside had turned into such a large inside. I guess I was feeling rather confused. This was rather awkward, this man sitting in front of me like this. It was unexpected, and certainly unwanted. To an extent. But you don't do this in life. You don't walk up to people you've never seen before and sit down in front of them at their table. It didn't happen like that. Maybe if we met at work or something, then it'd be different—I'd have to know this person, at least just a little bit. Why?

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked. "I didn't think anything bad at all. You just seem to appear so depressed. I want to know what is wrong."

"But… you don't even know my name," I said. "Why would you care so much?"

He pondered it for a couple seconds, then said, "Well, you are right. I could just be pretending to care, but then… why would I even bother to waste my time with a complete stranger? I guess it is because you have tweaked my interest. I am curious to know about you. I have never seen you here before, so to see someone so interesting and new, it just excites me."

I couldn't tell if I was supposed to feel frightened away, or if I should take that as a compliment to know that he found me to be so mysterious. Either way, it was an odd thing to say to a person. To me, at least.

"So?" he pressed.

I gave him a look of confusion. "So what?"

He chuckled. "I asked you what was wrong. Then we got sidetracked about names and such. But I want to know what is wrong with you. After all, it is why you came to this place on such a dreary night, isn't it?"

I nodded. True, I was looking for a place to hide out in for a while… but that was to stay away from people. I wasn't in the mood to talk with anybody, let alone chat with a stranger who knew nothing about me. Honestly, talking to this man was the same as posting your personal life on an online diary site—your life was open to anybody to judge you, discriminate you, pity you, or just taunt you into believing you're a pitiful specimen to graze its presence. I wasn't going to cave in just like that. I wanted to at least know this person's name before relinquishing any information about me. For all I knew, he could've been some type of person who collects negative information to spread around like wildfire to his co-workers to laugh about the next day. Gee, I really was being nihilistic today.

"Well, how about this first," I started.

He gave me an intrigued look. He was fascinated, waiting patiently for me to say whatever it was I wanted to say.

"What's your name?"

His face dropped. "Is that all you wanted to know? You could've asked me all kinds of bizarre questions and all you ask for is my name?"

I closed my eyes briefly before continuing. "Well, I don't feel comfortable giving away details of my life to a complete stranger. So a name is rather important in my book to know. Also, I won't give away any of my personal problems unless I know what kind of a person you are. And because you will most likely expect the same thing to come from me, I'll tell you about who I am and anything that has happened to me in the past. If you want to comply with my wishes."

He was nodding his head the entire time, soaking in what I was saying like a sponge, his hand on his chin. "Yes, yes, I understand. That is reasonable. If you wish to know my name and what there is to know about my personality, then I will expect no less from you. It is fair to know equally about each other, though it's safe to say one may babble on more than the other. Well, then." He paused. "My name is Lee. Rock, Lee."

I sighed. I didn't expect him to accept my request so willingly, but he did. And I didn't want to back down after all I just said. It'd be just as bad as a dog with all bark and no bite. They can snip and snap and growl all they like, but if they don't bite something, then the enemy will realize that they're not much of a threat.

"Gaara," I replied flatly, closing my eyes and sighing all the while. Why would a stranger go to great lengths just to get to know me? It's not like people have actually done it in the past, so why start now? Why all of a sudden should people stop gawking at me and running away from me? I opened my eyes, waiting for him to give me that same wide-eyed, frightened look that everybody used to give me. I waited for him to spit venom in my face and walk out. But that didn't happen at all.

"I see," he said, still sounding just as enthusiastic as before. "Will we be setting up dates to meet?"

"Dates…?" My mind was staggering into something more than I had actually wanted. Unless I took him the wrong way. I hope he didn't mean 'dates' as in actual dating...

He shook his head and smiled. "No, I mean as in places and times to meet each other. We can meet someplace new next time to chat over. Like lunch, maybe. I'm not going to ask where you live after just meeting you. That'd be a little too awkward since this is the first time meeting each other."

"Right," I agreed. "So, do you have any suggestions?" I didn't want to be the one to suggest anything.

"Hmm…" He pondered over this for a couple minutes. He arched his bushy eyebrow up, tilting his head up as well to look at the ceiling. As if that would actually help trigger an idea in his mind. "Well, maybe we could meet at… Uh… no, that's too expensive. Er… hmm… Oh. What about the Coffee Shack?"

I nodded once. "Yeah."

"Awesome," he said happily. "We will meet each other next Saturday at noon." He checked his watch--I copied him—and said, "Well, I will see you then."

I nodded again.

"Have fun listening to Ani DiFranco," he said.

Silence.

I looked up at the stage after Lee had left. Ani--the woman Lee had mentioned--, was preparing to step off the stage for the night. She'd just finished her last song and was ready to take a shot of any type of hard liquor before leaving to go to bed. I sighed. Going home would probably be a good idea, especially at one-thirty in the morning. I left a four-dollar tip (just for her bad behavior and lack of real service), and drove myself home into the wet night.

At least the rain had stopped pounding.