For the most part, Kankurou had enough thrill to last him a couple centuries. That being pointed out, said victim of horrendous and unforgettable shame locked himself underground in his lair, never to be viewed in the nude again for all eternity.

Once his sanity had returned during that moment of towel-shredding, the most painful anguish coated him like a cold shower and his face had fallen flat. At that point, he felt the most appropriate definition for his unrequited actions was, 'oh shit…'

In the dark, he had no need to deal with humanity and their scornful eyes or raised brows. Temari had seen what should be unseen. Gaara would know… Yeah, he'd definitely lose friends talking to towels and teddy bears. In such times of crisis, he once again reduced himself to the foolish task of yelling at himself. Had Temari walked by, she'd assume he'd pretended the walls had come alive or something drastic of the sort. No, it wasn't as scary as psychopath!gaara, but this whole experience was coming into close tier with those dreadful memories. Temari was his sole companion in the house so far. She didn't want to admit it, but that disturbing event scared her more than she could accept. It was as though she lived in a mental ward her entire life; first Gaara, now Kankurou.

It was actually fairly easy to live in this house right now. All Kankurou would do was reside in his room, because thankfully, he was ashamed for what he had done. At least he was sane enough to do that. But even then, she wondered what on earth he was doing in there. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best that she never knew.

The moment he finally did emerge, she was not present. All the better. Then again, after all that had happened over the course of those mere seconds, he was at a loss of what to do. His eyes were still growing accustomed to the lighting.

As he was in the middle of wishing he had something productive to do, such as take on a mission or do some task, the phone rang. He waited until after the first ring to actually pursue the irritating device, which sat on the counter expectantly. Once it had accomplished two rings, it was interrupted by Kankurou's hand picking it up and holding it to the side of his face. "Hello?"

"Hi."

He slammed it down, albeit crookedly.

There was no denying the fact that this call was a product of his crazy imagination. The damned thing was talking to him as well! No mistake; that voice belonged to one of those creepy household objects. He glared boggle-eyed at the black communication device and pitched his breathing to a higher rate. "No way. Uh, no, not again."

By now, he was near the kitchen. He stared at the cupboards and the refrigerator and listened to his stomach complain. It had been a while since he decided to munch on edibles. The paintless puppeteer shuffled over to the counter and tapped it for a moment before prying the fridge open. His eyes grazed over the contents before the accursed phone began wailing again.

Instinctively, almost, he let go of the refrigerator's handle. "…I hate prank callers."

His hand found the phone again. Then, his ear. "Stop soliciting!" he commanded, then shoved it back into its mouthpiece. Ha. That would teach the stupid phone. He walked away in hopes of making some noodles or reaching for chips.

Before he could once again retrieve a snack, the ringing sounded. Agh! You've got to be kidding me! He threw his hands down and stomped his way across that familiar pathway to the telephone, certainly not eager to listen to that voice. But then, a thought occurred. If he could get it over with, then perhaps something else wouldn't talk to him. What was worse than a phone? He had other encounters that were likely to be more malignant than this trivial thing.

Here goes. "What?"

"Stop ignoring me…"

He snorted. "Why should I?"

"Because it hurts. How would you feel-"

"Good. Because personally, I'm sick of all this. Make like me and pretend I don't exist. Stop calling me." He hung up and grumbled about how he would never get a girlfriend like this.

He went ahead and began making himself a cup of instant noodles. He listened to the monotone hum of the radiation that diligently cooked his meal, leaning against the counter and glancing at the phone suspiciously every so often. A minute went by. Nothing. Another minute. Nothing. His ramen was about to be finished, and at this point he ignored the silenced telephone in favor of watching the digits waste away to zero.

Beeeeeeeep.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Kankurou jolted for the odious phone that dared interrupt him while he made noodles and swiped it off its mouthpiece with a vigor inappropriate for the time and place. He breathed in so sharply that he accidentally snorted. "Hello? What is it now, you stupid fuckhole?"

"…Hey, asswipe. Thanks for the welcome. Temari won't answer her cell. Think you could go get her for me?" Oh, snap. That was the voice of that ridiculously smart-donkey chuunin that they met about two years ago. Ushimaru was his name, right- no, it was Shikamaru. Sometimes Kankurou got his animals mixed up.

"Whoops. Thought you were someone else. Hang on." He left the kitchen for a moment in order to scope for his sister, whose whereabouts were unknown. He called for her a couple of times and then found her. She approached him in the hallways with that awkward look, thanked him for the phone, and walked away, starting her conversation with the Konoha nin. Man, he must have totally screwed up if that's the way she was going to look at him for the rest of her life. Embarrassment flooded his system.

He returned to the kitchen to tend to his steaming noodles. Kankurou removed it from the microwave and walked over to the main room and settled at the low table, turning on the TV so that he had something to do while he ate.

Just when he was about to switch out of the news channel, a small, epic slur of notes began playing. Kankurou blinked for a moment and picked up his cell phone, heart beating faster than he'd like. The ID read 'please pick me up' and he grew even more concerned. What the hell kind of caller ID is that?

He answered it, hoping it wouldn't explode or something. "Uh, hello?"

'Stop toying with me.'

"Why the hell not?"

"Because. I have my reasons."

"Care to tell me those reasons?"

"Because if you won't let me talk to you, I'll explode."

Kankurou's worst fear had been realized. His heart grew stone cold and he swore he felt butterflies well up inside his stomach. "You're kidding, right? Who am I talking to?"

"Me. The phone."

"But you're the same guy I was talking to earlier."

"Yeah. But I don't take on the form of just one phone. Let's just say I AM phone. Phone is I. Next time you pick up a phone, think about that for a while."

"So uh… basically, I'm talking to the phone company? I swear I payed all my bills. I'm supposed to be debt-free."

"I'd check again if I were you."

"Goodbye."

"I'll explode."

"Fuck." He chucked his phone at the nearest wall and leapt away from the possible explosion, but received nothing but a busted-up cellular device and a waste of a day's pay at least. No, there was no explosion. There wasn't even a spark. Instead, it was a mangled-up piece of chromatic red sheen with a lopsided cover. The puppeteer found himself groaning. "FUCK."

It would be a while before he'd answer another phone again.