Of Cigarettes and Grape Vines
~chapter three~
White Sands
Notes: Gaara's father will be referred to as Daichi, as a user on tumblr suggested.
There's a scene where a piano will be played on and thus I'll provide you with the pieces beforehand:
Piano Bar from the series Cowboy Bebop, available on Youtube.
Poor Faye from the same series, also available on Youtube.
He could see himself clearly, standing far away at the edge of a sand dune.
He preferred to stay at a reasonable distance during such visions and pretend he's watching another person; though he could tell what kind of expression hisself is wearing even when he's looking away.
It would seem like such a nonsensical, chaotic thing, hisself; but sometimes, it would be a long line of coordinated rhymes.
And at times, he would take the shape of someone else, but it would still be him. Deep inside he knows it's still him but somehow he can't help but wonder if it's really not.
This time, it was him alright, but he wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a taller guy; he recalled how comfortable it was to place his head on the other's shoulder.
It was dawn, and the air was cold and shrewd. A profound sense of finality resided in it like a musk he grew accustomed to during the last month. That familiar scent didn't belong to the person next to him, however.
No matter how much the other guy changed, in his visions he'd always have the same keen yet delicate features. His hair would be as luscious as ever. His eyes would still remain paler than his and his skin softer.
Time in his visions didn't change as well. It was forever a dawn, in which the sun pinned itself to a spot on the horizon, like a photo. Just like this, time didn't pass. He didn't grow, he didn't age; he was feathery in this world.
It didn't mean he liked it all the time, though. Yes he loved it when he was alone but his legs screamed at him to flee whenever that person appeared in his vision. It was a luxury he refused to retain.
That person denied him it and he obliged; a docile child.
He knows his imagery is vast and borderless, but he could only dwell in a small part of it, where it consisted of oceans upon oceans of sugary sand.
And then long brown hair fell around his face, surrounding his being like a fence of undeniable desire. His hands would sometimes neglect his own body and roam on the other's, tracing a map he learned to see albeit its invisibility.
Touch yourself…
He thinks it's too late for these games, but he can't help but play along. As long as it pleasured that person, it pleasured him.
His fingers danced around until they reached his pants' zipper and undid it.
Don't take it off…
The commanding tone invaded his body, sending heat waves to his groin. He let his hand massage up and down his clothed erection as the other watched him with eyes so intense, so pallid, as if they were melting down with the rest of his face.
At times, there would be pain, but only because he wasn't being touched. There would be pain because such intimate act always took place in the most detached way possible.
That didn't stop him from feeling the unadulterated yearning; so lustful and needy. With that person, sitting at the end of the bed, staring at him as if he was the absolute goal, how could he not?
Imagining it belonged to another, his hand slithered under his slips, stroking in a faster rhythm as the sound of his panting floated around the room.
Hot breath on his neck, fervent lips tracing hidden roads on his body, leaving rooms for secrets so enticing to fill other places with new riddles to be solved later.
But Later never came, and there were no kisses and no hot breath. He could feel it all as he jerked his hips, pouring all the heat out of his body only for it to return moments later.
There were so many details but it passed so fast, leaving him gasping alone in a room so different from his imagery. In a room that seemed so blue.
Without getting up from his bed, he searched the nightstand clumsily for a box of tissues. Getting one and cleaning the remains of what he now regretted, he stood up and went to the bathroom.
It always came second to short-lived bliss; self-loathing.
Staring at his own reflection in the mirror, he felt like ripping his face apart. He wanted -no- he needed the miserable guy in the mirror to jump out of it and battle him to death.
He wanted to feel worth again. To feel like life is more than just his imagery or his visions or those white dunes of sand or the person who graced his sleepless nights.
He wished dawn will come, and then leave without a fight.
At mornings like these, he wished that undefeatable loneliness would just go away for a walk. But it is also lonely, and so it would stick with you, defying everything you ever thought knew about yourself.
Such a pitiful thing.
Few hours and people would be awake, succumbing to the necessities of a life they weren't even living.
A little space for himself was never a bad idea, and thus he walked out to the balcony, cigarettes and a lighter hidden in his underwear.
Everything was quite, and the only sound he could hear was the breeze, playing tunes offhandedly.
Lighting his first cigarette for that day, he thought about what's going to come. School was over, and he almost ended up repeating it all if not for his father's last minute input.
Tobirama Senju is going to enjoy those top notch cigars for the end of summer.
But his father-If there's something this man was good at, it was at leaving him hanging.
He had said absolutely nothing after he got the phone call from the school, informing him of his son's over the top vandalism. He didn't do anything. He never did anything. He just stared at him, and said that guests are arriving soon to congratulate him on graduating.
Gaara hated it all. He hated the party and the attendants and the facades and the gossip and the poll to decide his future. He hated how his father transformed completely in front of them; from a neglectful, obsolete father to a loving, mindful and concerned one.
They were all lairs. They all participated in butchering small parts of their children every day they weren't there; they all smiled at him and wished him success while their faces trickled poison.
But that wasn't only it. That wasn't the end of a night he came to despise.
A person was there as well, along with all those frauds. That person. He entered the room like he always did; as if he owned everything and everyone.
People thought the two of them were catching up. "Old friends", they'd say, blissfully unaware of the history shared between their bodies.
"Oh, I hope my son teaches yours how to handle it out there. Lord knows it's pretty tough for a young man like him."
Those words tickled his ears like the insufferable noises of a fly. He listened to them. They both listened to the same words, repeated over and over again, unconsciously bringing back memories he long since suppressed.
How can he blame them though? They're already in a utopia so far away from his.
But all those were fine. Everything was fine until he made the stupidest decision of his life.
This morning… it was him trying to duplicate a few moments that seemed so eternal- so endless and unreal.
But today was another life, and that person was only a page, full of incoherent scratches and scribbles; a page he still knows how to read. Therefore, the page needs to be ripped.
Gaara stomped his cigarette angrily on the marble rail. If there is someone who deserved all this loathing, it was him.
Weak… the way he allowed himself to be easily pushed against the wall, figuratively and literally.
How he didn't move; how his body succumbed to the aroma of highly alert nerves.
Weak because he let something as longing take over him all over again after he battled so hard to free himself of its clutches.
Weak because even now, all he could think about was that he would do it every night with the same eyes watching him.
How worthless.
Reaching inside his underwear to fetch another cigarette, he noticed the white pack. The brand read: Seven Stars.
He snorted. When did this become his choice for a smoke?
This consequently lead him to wonder about another boy; someone more pleasant and kind. Someone who made him feel genuinely comfortable.
And as if his thoughts emitted some kind of sign, his cellphone peeped from inside, warning him that it was against his nature to think of anybody in such a fond manner.
But it was also odd, because rarely if ever he received any calls.
Seeing a number under Temari's name, he frowned; when has she become a morning person.
Against his better judgment, he answered.
"I knew you'd be awake."
"No shit."
"So how are you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Did you really call for this now?"
His sister chuckled. "No actually. I want you to tell your father I'm not coming today. I'm kind of stuck here."
Gaara leaned against the rail. "Why don't you tell him yourself?"
"You know I'm not on best terms with him."
"No, that honor would go to his newspaper."
Temari snickered. "Just tell him I'll follow you guys to that Whirl-shit when I'm done with my mess here."
"OK."
"Hey Gaara… you know- why we're going there?"
"I don't care; I'm merely tagging along."
She snorted. "If I didn't know you any better I'd say you're telling the truth. The Gaara I know is no tag along; you must be going there for a reason."
He shrugged mentally, the movement transmitting to his words. "If there's any reason at all then it must be my need for a change of scenery."
Though not sounding convinced the least, she took his word for it. "But anyway, your father must be up for something. When did we ever go the countryside in summer, huh? The last time we went on a picnic was five years ago. how come now all this changes?"
Gaara couldn't help but agree, though a part of him still didn't care. "Don't fret over it, Temari."
"Don't tell me what to fret over." she said, obviously pissed. "You know better than I do he's ready to sell us for a good deal of money. I need to know what I'm getting myself into."
"If I didn't know you any better I'd say you're scared."
She probably caught on his attempt at a quarrel, as she scoffed in a way only a Sabaku would manage. "The only thing I'm scared about is your health after I see you. I'm not comfortable about a plan out of the blue, from your father no less. Do you think he's probably gotten himself a deal there?"
"I could care less." he repeated himself to her, hoping she would stop nagging.
"Why won't you search for an answer with me?" she asked, irritated.
"I just answered that. Goodbye Temari."
As he made it to hang up, he heard her voice calling again. "Hey hey, wait." he placed the phone back on his ear. "What kind of clothes I need to bring there?"
He recalled Naruto telling him something about hot days and cold nights, and thought a little fun won't hurt."The day is twenty-four hot; you don't have to bring any jackets."
"Got it. See you there."
As the sun climbed up the sky, life began throbbing in the Sabaku household, and Gaara retreated back to his room.
It wasn't as dark or blue anymore after he pulled the long, heavy curtains of the window -which also served as a glass door to the balcony- apart, permitting sun light to penetrate his cave, but it was still as grim and empty as ever.
He had the smallest room, and claimed it the moment this house was written as theirs.
It was shaped like a dome with rough edges; his bed was in the middle, a nightstand and a messy desk on either side of it while a relatively big closet was a little to the east.
The fuzzy carpet was indigo in color, the walls grey and inert. He had no pictures or paintings hung on it, only mottled shelves for some of the books he'd read. And there were no windows except for the tall glass door.
Nobody was allowed in it; no nosy siblings, no reproaching fathers, not even cleaning ladies.
However, he made sure to keep it clean and neat as most of his activities took place here. Even though they were going to leave this house for a while, he desperately needed to change the sheets.
In fact, he wanted to throw everything ever touched by that person out of the room; which meant all and everything he possessed.
Even his own clothes didn't feel like his.
And so he started.
Gaara went down stairs, followed by his brother's puzzled eyes, and fetched some screwdrivers of varying sizes along with a wrench and other tools from the kitchen.
"What are you going to do?"
He didn't answer and headed back to his room.
Beginning with the bed, Gaara disjointed the wooden pieces and piled them outside his chamber, followed by sheets and pillows. He then took a chair and climbed it to reach for few bags collecting dust at the top of his closet.
Turning to his nightstand, he pulled the drawers out and emptied all contents in the bags, leaving absolutely nothing but dust inside. He stopped upon reaching to the final drawer. It was locked.
He surveyed the room with his eyes, as if the key would wave to him. He knew he'll be wasting time searching around for it, so he didn't. Instead, he proceeded to bare the room of everything that secretly broke him.
When he finished, it was time for the hardest task; dismantling the closet. Making sure that it won't create a problem, he looked in the telephone book for the number of those men who helped put the same closet together.
They promised to be there in forty minutes or less.
His father stopped him after the call ended. "What are you doing?"
Gaara matched his father's stern expression. "I'm cleaning my room, like you said."
"Does that include calling a delivery service?" the man asked tersely.
"For the type of cleaning I'm doing, yes."
His father took a look around the now mostly empty room before shifting his attention back to him. "What type of cleaning?"
"I'm getting rid of things I don't need."
"And that includes even your bed?"
"I decided to buy a new mattress when we come back. No bed."
His father glanced at him questioningly. "You don't want a bed?"
"No,"
The man sighed after a long moment and uncrossed his arms, disapproval written all over his face. "To each his own. I suggest this mess outside your room be gone as soon as possible."
"It will."
Throwing one last glimpse his way, the man sauntered out of the room.
He allowed himself to inhale new air, and smile. Perhaps talking with Temari had given him some vigor.
While going through his clothes, Gaara had found the key to the locked drawer; he contemplated -rather dumbly in his opinion- whether he should open it or not. He eventually did, and secured the few crummy trinkets inside his pajama pockets.
Now that there was only a carpet in the room, he went down to the backyard, where he worked on creating what would be his fire festival.
The men arrived, and he helped them remove the closet from his room and all other things that looked fairly new, in their words.
He got himself a good deal out of it all, earning some money enough to buy him few articles of clothes and a whole carton of cigarettes.
Gaara returned to the backyard, matchbox and a bottle of lighter fluid in hand.
Taking out the junk previously hidden in the drawer from his pockets, he added them to the pile without bothering a glance and set fire in the mountain of things he is no longer allowed to even think about.
No sooner than he threw them, flames writhed around the wood, the plastic, the woolen bracelets and the memories. It shivered when the remnants of his bed crackled under it but balanced once the wood burned out.
He could see his brother and father watching him from the corner of his eye, but he didn't care; this foreign kind of heavenly relief washed over him. Inside him was also something he threw into the festival, to be eaten by flames.
He ripped that page, and this time, he was certain if it ever crossed him again, he'll not be afraid of reading it.
Gaara was not the type to anticipate things, but he couldn't wait to ride in the car and head to Whirlpool.
Sabaku Daichi sat on his lavish, vanilla colored sofa, clad in his white bath robes and holding his sleek girlfriend between his hands, letting go every now and then to sip his cup of tea or suck on his cigar, puffing smoke in its face.
The perfect image of aristocracy.
More times than not, Gaara found the scene to be heavily amusing. He'd observe his father's streaked body; how he controls the language it speaks and stripes it down to numbers. And how, in moments of unawareness, he'd let it slip, and that's when Gaara's amusement would really settle.
There are few things this man had taught him, and he wouldn't feign enough abhorrence to say they didn't come in handy through his life time.
One of them was to have utmost command of his body. In other words, lie to the whole world about your true emotions using a language not many cared to learn or even understand.
But now, this man, in the comfort of his own home, unwittingly handed his son the secrets of his most inner being.
He was a little nervous, as he had forgotten to light his cigar three times now and held the newspaper differently. His eyes skimmed absent-mindedly through the pages, not really reading or paying attention.
Was he trying to hide something? Probably.
Did he wish to keep it hidden? Likely not, as he would take discreet glimpses at his sons, trying to understand their expressions and perhaps find the right moment to speak.
Gaara on his part kept his face inscrutable while Kankuro, sitting cross-legged on the brown leather couch facing him, was busy reading through one of his engineering textbooks and matching whatever he found inside with papers above papers of designs and sketches.
His father was becoming impatient by the minute, and Gaara felt not one ounce of guilt for not initiating a conversation as the man leafed through the newspaper, hoping he'd fool himself into forgetting his discomfiture.
Seeing as his disposition for today was unusually bouncy, Gaara got up from where he was on the couch and walked to the small piano on the far end of the huge living room.
He wiggled his fingers, searching his mind for an upbeat tune; something cynical; something fun that will manage to get on his father's poor nerves.
Something like…
Gaara, finding the exact piece he wanted to play, began tapping lightly over the dusty keys, the jaunty notes filling the room and the lively tune awarding him with a stiff twist of the neck in which his father turned around to glance at him bemusedly.
He's probably wondering when in the hell his son decided to grace his fingers over the piano's keys. However, the man instantly regained his posture, clearing his throat. "Cut this music off, Gaara."
After hitting a sharp note, he descended down to a more sullen one, reverting to another piece completely. "Is this the kind of music you like?" he asked, voice matching the somber tone of the music.
"I don't like any kind of music. Cut it off."
Gaara didn't listen, going back to the first piece, feeling as if objects in the living room were moving along with the music he was playing; or his father's anger, he didn't know which. "But why father, music is the medicine of the soul."
His father stood up rigidly, flames of irritation discharging from his eyes. "If you don't cut this right now, you will be punished."
He hit another sharp note, smirking wryly. "By what, no pocket money for a month?"
"You will not be allowed to visit Whirlpool with us."
His fingers inadvertently ceased their playful dancing across the keys and his shoulders slumped down. It was one of those moments when his body language matched his emotions. But what were those emotions, he didn't know.
The living room's furniture returned courteously to its place, and he rose from his seat, bowing elegantly to his visible and not so visible audience. "I was merely trying to entertain."
Making sure to fill it with as much distaste and enmity as possible, he threw his father one more glare before ascending the stairs to his room.
"What was that about?" He heard Kankuro ask and he snorted.
A small piece of his revenge, what it was, was.
Fetching a towel and a set of clean clothes, Gaara made his way to the bathroom, vexed beyond reason.
Starting the shower, he took off his clothes before testing the water. When it was hot enough, he stepped under it, succumbing to the warmth that invaded his body.
Squeezing enough shampoo in his palm, Gaara started tousling his hair, scratching in needless aggressiveness at his scalp, hoping it would take the twelve ways he came up with to murder his father away.
The overly sweet scent of the shampoo annoyed him greatly and he made to rinse it off his head.
Letting the foam and the water wash over his face, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold tiles.
His heart was beating faster than it should.
Gaara's knees crumbled under him, and he attempted to stand up straight before giving up immediately and tumbling down to the shower's cold floor. Drawing his knees to his face, he buried his head between them, feeling utterly powerless.
Confusion, perplexity, bemusement; those were all things that made him feel disabled, weak, and impotent. Whenever he'd experience episodes of puzzlement, when it came to his own emotions, Gaara tended to feel a sort of crippling weakness.
Water drops trickled down his arched back, reminding him that it will eventually get cold and that he should continue to clean himself. He paid it no heed, raising his head a little to peer at the wall.
Nothing.
Inside him was nothing. There was emptiness in a place he knew so well but did not visit. That emptiness he ignored for so long and still does; that hole, so black and endless and terrifying.
How come his father knew how to strike the right string? Why was it the right string?
Why did going to Whirlpool matter all that much? He shouldn't care. He doesn't care whether they took him with them or not.
I'll go there alone anyway.
Gaara smacked his forehead against his knee, and smacked it again, wanting to feel pain. Wanting to get hold of whatever tangibility left of him before it evaporated with the steam.
He was so perilously close to acknowledge his feelings and yet he wished they'd just disappear. It was the same as wishing to remain weak and helpless. However, those feelings did not peter, and they all culminated to one thing; to one person.
And… Why did seeing Uzumaki Naruto once again matter this much?
It didn't matter but it did. It did so much that he started pulling at his hair, feeling the disbelief splitting him in half.
But no matter how many times he thwacked his head, no matter how many hairs he pulled, there was a song inside him and it drove him crazy.
It drove him crazy because he didn't know how to explain the lyrics of what was happening inside him and that was unacceptable for someone like him; it was wrong to not know how you feel about something. It was wrong and stupid and unlike him.
But that was also not the day to lose his mind, and so he turned off the shower, stepping outside to slip inside his favorite pair of jeans and a plain black shirt.
Naruto's memory usually calmed him in a way incomprehensible to him, but this time, the same person was much more than that boy he skipped classes and smoked with. This time, he acknowledged that Naruto was his one and only friend.
He didn't understand how such person managed to climb to a high chair like that, but it seems he did. Weirdly enough, the notion itself switched him to a more serene state and he gripped the hairdryer, making it to mangle the water out of his hair.
It was such an odd feeling.
Next day, so early at five am, they stood outside their house, bags and stock for the road trip all prepared. Kankuro loaded everything in the car and proceeded to beg their father to allow him the honor of driving it.
The grumpy man turned him down and got into the driver's seat, a smug look in his face, reminiscent of a kid whose parents bought him his dream toy.
What a childish man, Gaara thought.
Kankuro grouched and mumbled under his breath, seemingly begrudged; he got in the car eventually, fiddling with his jacket's zipper and mussing his hair only to check it again in the window glass. He was probably as impatient as Gaara was; for different reasons, of course.
His heart was betraying him once again; so blatantly this time, mainly because now, he's well aware of the reason behind its irrational pulsing.
He pondered a little about the future as he took the car's backseat, securing his headphones in place and slouching on the leather seat, glaring at the rising sun before closing his eyes.
"How long is it gonna take to get there?" Kankuro's voice sounded, incensed.
"At least six hours."
"Where the heck is this Whirlpool anyway?"
"It's a little far away from the city."
"I can tell!"
"If you don't stop whining then go there by train; you'll arrive three hours sooner and save us the pains of accompanying you." their father replied stringently.
Gaara, eyes still closed, furrowed his brow; maybe he should have taken the train instead of having to listen to their bickering for the upcoming hours. Alas, he threw the navy green hoodie of his jacket over his head and turned the music up, hoping it would drown their voices.
Alanis Morissette distinct, rather annoying voice singing Hand in My Pocket filled his ears, and Gaara wondered for the umpteenth time throughout his life why he liked this song.
It seemed fitting for the countryside, though.
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is flicking a cigarette
He's going to 'flick' the world.
The rest of the song's words, however, reminded him of someone; someone who seemed like a lemon coated candy; someone who acted all tough and cheery but who was plagued by so many troubles.
Naruto…
What was that chicken-shit doing anyway?
Gaara found himself inattentively imagining the other's face upon seeing him. The boy seemed fairly excited about spending the summer together, even though Gaara himself had no idea why they were heading there in the first place, and what were his father's intentions for taking them with him.
Where are they going to stay? Did his father rent a house or something? Are they going to stay at someone's place?
A place so naturally lavish like Whirlpool was undeniably a treat. But why?
He had given up on the idea of a business trip since he'd noticed the man's uncharacteristic fidgeting and unreasonable anger, pinpointing the fact that if something worried his father, it must be human interaction that required a level of intimacy of some sort; human connection that did not prompt professionalism.
Something way beyond his father's goldfish capabilities.
It must be something concerning another human being. Maybe a woman? Or perhaps a man? He didn't know which that block of wood preferred.
But he was also going for the sole reason of seeing another human being, and he was also quite nervous about it, so they were basically on the same boat for now.
Going back, he really focused on the thought of the blond boy and in which way they're going to spend the summer. How is he going to feel comfortable about all these new-found emotions concerning their so-called 'friendship'?
Gaara felt most content with neutral feelings towards everything, and he's proud to say he had excelled at it for the most part but then that guy had to come and ruin his preconceptions about pretty much everything.
Recalling that moment he so foolishly took the other's hand in his own. Why did he bother? He shouldn't have but he did. For a moment there, it was as painful to him as it was to Naruto; to feel so self-inclined and obliged despite not being told to.
I'm not certain… this became the phrase he used the most when it came to the blond. It was unlike him to be unsure about his needs and wants. He'd always known what he wanted, what path to take, and what route to dig; but with that guy, all of these marked things were different.
Did he really want to be held by Naruto that afternoon? But it sounded so ridiculous. Why was it so easy for Naruto to make him so… so unaware?
It scared him.
Being unaware was bad. Being inattentive was worse. Not keeping check on your reactions, retorts, and your manner of speaking were all things Naruto managed to bring out.
Another Gaara seemed to emerge to life solely for him.
What if he became a totally different person? What if he could barely grasp what's left of him? What if he didn't feel like himself anymore?
Naturally, he'd be kicking in outrage, fighting for something that now seemed so insignificant in the face of Naruto's wide, moronic smiles.
Gaara meandered on the leather seat, raising the volume even higher, propelling himself to visit a place where, for the meantime, Naruto didn't exist.
"Gaara," somebody pushed his shoulder. "Gaara wake up, we're here. We're in Whirlpool."
He opened his eyes groggily, seeing Kankuro's figure positioned awkwardly over him, his legs outside the car.
Pushing Kankuro's face away from his line of vision, Gaara sat upright, staring out of the car's open door to where his father stood. His brother stepped out of the car and he followed, only to find himself standing in the middle of nowhere.
True, they were in a completely isolated area, car parked on the side of a road lined with a long, endless stream of trees. There was no one in sight, and he wondered if they were really in Whirlpool or the setting of a cheesy horror film.
Either way, his father turned around to face them, signaling for them to join him across the dusty blacktop road. The two of them complied, overpassing the empty street and standing next to their worn-out father.
"What now?" Kankuro asked impatiently.
Their father looked around, surveying the area once more. "We're waiting for someone."
And as if on cue, a rusty, faded-blue truck appeared in the distance; a long arm popped out of the window and waved to them enthusiastically. His father waved back, a smile Gaara had never seen before drawn on his normally unimpressed face.
So he wasn't wrong; it was about another human being.
The truck stopped in front of them, and a woman emerged; her long hair, the color of a red dawn, was enough to turn the eyes of a whole court of uninterested men.
She smiled brightly, reminding him greatly of the way Naruto smiled. The woman skipped to them, holding out her arms widely. "Daichi!"
His father mimicked the gesture and walked leisurely to her, enveloping the woman in his arms. "Kushina, dear, how are you?"
She laughed, wrapping her arms around him in return. "I'm fine, I'm great. How are you?"
Gaara watched the exchange, and the new, unfounded intimacy this usually cold and detached man was showing. He watched as they parted, kissing each other's cheeks and smiling coyly like teenagers in love.
He almost felt like gagging.
Daichi cleared his throat, probably noticing the awkwardness as both his sons stood idly behind the two, not knowing if they should be there or not.
"Kushina, those are my sons." he gestured to them, and she followed his gaze, dark blue eyes settling on them. "Boys, this is Kushina, a dear friend of mine."
Kushina sauntered to them, her long dress fluttering in the wind, her long hair straying in the horizon, giving her this indiscernible holy relic. She wasn't a tall one, nor was she short; she was at the exact right height and proportions any man could ever wish for a woman to have.
"Hello," she greeted, her smile lessening not. The woman struck her hand, holding it out to Kankuro. His brother took it, a stunned expression adorning his dumb face. "You must be Kankuro."
His brother continued to frantically shake her hand. "Woah, you're hot…"
The woman used her free hand to scratch the back of her head sheepishly, sticking out her tongue like a rowdy child.
"Watch your language Kankuro." their father reproached sternly, arms folded.
Kushina waved a hand dismissively. "It's okay, nobody complimented me in a long time." she glanced at him as Kankuro continued to shake her hand. "And you must be Gaara."
He nodded, not knowing any other way to answer such an obvious question.
She let go of his brother's hand and walked to him. "I've been lookin' forward to meeting ya, especially after bein' told you're the family's redhead." she leaned down on his ear and whispered. "Not many people have the privilege of red hair; we're lucky shotas."
The woman winked playfully, and then turned back to his father. "Get in your car, Daichi; I'll drive me truck and lead you to the house."
His father nodded, heading to the car while Kushina headed back to her old truck. Gaara seized the opportunity and asked to ride in with her; she zealously agreed, ushering him inside the small vehicle.
Kankuro shot him a puzzled glance and he ignored it, finding this to be a better time for investigation.
Following him inside, Kushina started her truck, reeling it backwards and heading back to where she came from.
As she drove, chatting away at nothing, Gaara observed this figure; this person.
Her moves, her reactions, her excitement, and her manner of speaking, -albeit a bit different and heavier- were so reminiscent of someone else. Almost as if they were copied.
"Ne Gaara," she started. "I heard you're in the same school as my son. Do you know him? Uzumaki Naruto, unruly blond hair, blue eyes, easily spotted in a crowd."
Gaara shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know him."
She looked disappointed, but smiled anyway. "Then I bet you two will get along just fine. He's your age, ya know?"
He knew so well it hurt.
Why?
Why did he lie about something as normal and trivial as knowing someone?
It was in no way a thoughtful retort, nor did he for a second mull over her question. It came out, so simply and dumbly that he wondered if his subconscious had something to hide.
Was the reality of knowing that woman's son worth concealing or denying? But again, meeting Naruto, at times, felt like it happened in another life.
Was this the real life? But if Kushina existed in this one, then Naruto must've had existed as well, and all the days they'd spent together were more than real.
When Gaara suddenly recalled the feel of Naruto's fingers entwined with his, he knew that it was so surrealistically real and true, even though those times still felt as if they were from another timeline altogether.
He scoffed internally. Was he really that unable to comprehend reality? Was he really referring to meeting Naruto with something akin to a dream?
"We're here."
Kushina's voice pulled him out of his head, prompting him to look outside the window and see one of the -if not the- most beautiful place in his life.
"That's me house up there." she pointed with her finger to said house, barely visible behind all the gigantic trees surrounding it.
Beside them was a large vineyard that seemed to have only a beginning and no end; one large, slightly ajar iron gate marked the entrance, adorned with one symbol; a red swirl.
Gaara stared out of the window in awe, marveling at the air's scent of soil and pine, and the cool breeze that fiddled carelessly with their hearts.
No wonder that one fervent of a jungle man Naruto treasured this place as much as he did. It was absolutely majestic.
But there was no time to be enamored. He needed to move and warn Naruto as fast as possible, even though he had no clue from what; it was this urge inside him to find the other and slap him with all the new-found information he'd managed to collect from both their parents.
And so, he took Kushina's permission to cross the vineyard as a way to reach the house. "Of course you can!" she said. "We'll round the land and get to the main entrance so your da could park his car."
His 'da' was the least of his worries for now.
Gaara got off the car, jogging to the iron gate and pushing it lightly enough to fit between the tall doors and get inside.
He then heard Kushina's voice call loudly behind him. "If you found Naruto, then call him in."
He was going to find Naruto, and he was going to thwack their heads together until this reality turned into a mere dream again.
Darting through the mazes of the vineyard, Gaara's eyes searched around frantically, his heart on a race with his footsteps as they dug holes in the tender soil. Feeling almost desperate, he peeked with his head over the vines, and there he saw it; a shock of yellow hair that was impossible not to notice.
Although his heart continued to throb faster than he'd like to, it calmed considerably at the sight of Naruto just few vines away, thoroughly unaware of another's presence so close to him.
Gaara compelled his legs to walk slower with each step until he was behind Naruto. The blond boy was smoking, gray threads floating over his head and creating a sort of aura around him.
Sauntering closer, he watched as Naruto hastily flung his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it and flinging his arms around to get rid of the smoke.
Did he think Gaara was someone else?
Naruto glanced around, and when their eyes met, the other's face became quite pale, as if a spaceship just landed behind him. He stepped closer, and stared the other right in the eye, saying the one thing that came to mind. "We're in deep shit."
He stood there, having to watch as Naruto walked in circles, pulled at his hair and spoke in a language worse than gibberish.
"Gods, why are you doing this to me?" the blond plead to the heavens, his blue eyes reflecting an infantile kind of sorrow. "Is it because I don't pray? 'Cause I promise I will if this's just a joke."
Gaara pinched the bridge of his nose, finding no time for this kind of entreaty. "What a marvelous time to be religious."
Naruto fell to his knees, raising his arms dramatically to the sky. "She knows your father! My mother is your father's dear friend! Your father, of all people! Why is this earth so fucking small?!" he shouted, head thrown back, mouth agape.
He contemplated telling the other how pathetic he looked, but stopped when Naruto glanced at him, face wistful. "Kill me right here and end my miserable life."
Gaara sighed. "You should take acting classes."
"I should take fuck me classes!"
After more floundering, weltering in the dirt, and yelling, Naruto was up on his feet, dusting his overalls and hair. "What should we do?" he murmured drearily, facing away from Gaara.
"Nothing," he replied. "We're strangers, and that's as much as they know; nothing needs to be done."
Naruto looked at him, frenetic eyes searching his for a more reassuring answer, as if Gaara had it. "But why didn't you tell her that you knew me?"
He sighed again, not happy with the way this conversation –to even call it one- was heading. "Don't rummage through sand for more sand, Naruto. You're as much a lair as I am. Act upon my statement and nothing will change."
The blonde's expression turned one of furiousness. "How could you say that?" he asked, exasperated. "How could you think nothing will change if I acted like I don't know you?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Because you don't know me, Naruto; it's like meeting each other for the first time, and that's how we should act."
Naruto's arms fell limply to his sides, melancholy apparent on his face. "Maybe… maybe I don't know you like you said, but what I do know is that I don't want to act like I've never met the small part of you I'm familiar with."
The conversation was stirring in the exact way he didn't want it to, and he wished to end it as soon as possible. "Your mother is expecting us; we'll talk inside, okay?"
Naruto nodded, but made no attempt at moving. He was losing what little patience and tolerance he had for the day and walked past the blond boy, noticing how the other avoided any physical contact with him by stepping further to the side.
It was confusing, to leave Naruto –his friend- hanging like this, and it annoyed him more than it should have. He truly wished to relieve Naruto of this, but he had no way of knowing how; he, himself, was lost in a blizzard of his own set of unanswered questions.
Upon arriving at the house, Gaara was glad nobody paid them much attention except for his father who looked Naruto up and down before declaring the boy greatly resembled his mother.
Kushina took their bags to the rooms they were going to occupy, advising them to take a bath and rest until she wakes them for dinner, and they all agreed.
He did not see Naruto until later that evening, when they all huddled around the kitchen's table as Kushina dotted it with food.
It amazed him how well the other played his role. The blond sat there, not overly polite, but still mannerly enough to paint the picture of the good son with a perpetual smile placed so perfectly on his face.
He chatted, emphasizing his words with his arms, palms, and even managed to attract the attention of their father.
Gaara knew how carefully that face had been crafted, and he thanked Naruto inwardly for holding up to the challenge and following on his lie. However, that did not, in any way, erase his deep discomfort for the night.
To him, their parents' 'friendship' seemed much more than that. He knew they were dating; he also knew Naruto was well aware of that fact. Anyone with a half-functioning brain could tell if they attended that night's dinner.
However, said night continued normally and the dinner was undeniably wonderful, presenting a nice change for their family's routine of either take-outs or maid-cooking.
He had long since forgotten what it's like to have a woman in the house; a home without a woman is no home at all.
When all were done and finished, they headed to their rooms, Kushina asking Naruto to help him and Kankuro settle in. The boy nodded, and the two of them followed him as he walked through the long hallways of the one-story house.
Naruto talked with Kankuro all the way, thoroughly ignoring Gaara's presence, and when they arrived to the brothers' shared room, he faked a smile, bidding them goodnight before disappearing out of the room, leaving the door open for the hallway's faint blue light to illuminate the chamber.
He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep. So, Gaara spent the night staring out of the window at Kankuro's bedside, wondering about the validity of his choice to lie.
Why did they have to act indifferent and unfamiliar towards each other as if they've done something unacceptable?
Why did he think they were in deep shit? He shouldn't have thought so, and he shouldn't have cared; but somehow, he found the fact of their parents knowing each other, less so dating, to be immensely bothersome and unsettling.
It created a sort of pillar between him and Naruto.
Gaara wanted to break that pillar, and the only way to do it was to break whatever thing their parents had going on. It was the only way to safeguard and preserve something he's yet to understand fully.
The only way to complete his revenge and feel in control again.
Notes:
Again, thanks for everyone who favored and followed this; gave me strength to write this chapter.
If you were wondering, Kushina's blue truck is a 1953 Ford F-100. I thought it fit her, 'nuff said.
I'm not going so far as to say the masturbation scene was hot. It wasn't. I mostly tried to make it seem uncomfortable as Gaara, himself, wasn't comfortable.
And a cookie for whomever guesses who that person is.
This chapter should not have taken as long as it did. I'm afraid it was filled with inconsistencies for lack of said consistency in writing it; some parts were written two months ago, some recently, some deleted then added. So yeah.
However, next chapter will follow Temari's little adventure as she arrives to Whirlpool and meets this mysterious stranger!
I'd like to ask- do you have any songs that remind you of this pairing? Maybe a phrase or a quote or certain lyrics? I might start adding those as I see fit to the beginning of each chapter. Till next one, lovelies~