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And the Beat Goes On
Chapter 26: Simple Complications

The door creaked open and he stepped into the foyer, an unfinished room in the house, with the door to the kitchen, the dirty cement floor, and the shoes all lined up in a row. It was certainly different from the chaos he'd lived in for the last little while.

Slowly, he took off his shoes, placing them beside the others there. They looked so out of place there, so grubby and worn against the polished new of the others. Was that their proper place?

His bare feet smacked against the cement, the coldness of it seeping up into his legs. The house wasn't happy to see him back again.

The door to the kitchen didn't squeal on its hinges but opened silently, allowing him to enter his home. Was it really his home?

He wasn't so sure anymore. At one time, he couldn't have pictured any where else being his, belonging to him. He couldn't have called anywhere home, because that place had been cold and unforgiving.

The warmth of the rest of the house flowed out to greet him, washing over him, curling about him as he paused with his hand on the door knob. Then, he pushed his way into the room, finding it empty, and vacant.

The house was echoing his inner turmoil, which was slightly disturbing, even with the pensive mood he was in. He felt just as empty inside, as if he'd had everything ripped away from him. He wasn't sure where he belonged anymore.

He wandered out of the kitchen, finding the dining room deserted too. He paused by the piano, looking at it reflectively, watching his melancholic visage be reflected in that polished surface. He seemed too old, too serious suddenly, to be the little boy who used to live here.

Tentatively, he reached out and placed his hand on the wood, running it along the edge of the instrument with practised ease. Hesitantly, he sat down on the bench, gently touching the ivory keys, as if remembering what he'd forgotten.

Did he remember how to play that song?

He abandoned the piano after a moment or two, walking across the room, to stare out the windows into the snowy backyard. The old oak tree, with its branches snow-covered and clawing at the gray sky vaulting high above, stood bent under the weight of the years. It seemed tired, as if it was about to give up the ghost. Was he as tired as that?

He turned away from the windows and padded up stairs, his feet barely sounding on the carpet. He stopped by the closed door to his room, deciding that someone had closed it in his absence, having not wanted to be reminded that there was someone else who had lived here.

Did he live there still?

No, he decided, he really didn't live anywhere anymore, because he felt so dead inside. He had given up trying to sort himself out, and instead, left himself with a million swirling questions that he refused to answer, because he was torn up by them.

He looked at the room, like it was a time capsule from some long forgotten era, with everything perfectly intact. Nothing had been touched, nothing had been moved. Clothes and school work met in the middle of the melee, mingling together. Books and pens and other things, like a half-eaten bit of bagel, or a knocked over plant littered the desk, and the drawers hadn't closed properly.

The ghost of a smile graced his lips. Those drawers never would shut properly, would they?

The bed was still tangled from when he'd slept in it last. But had that really been him sleeping there?

He felt like a completely different person then. He was almost surprised by that, because he hadn't expected that going away for a week would change him that dramatically. The death of that woman had left him with so many questions, and he just couldn't find the answers in himself, but there was no one there he could turn to for guidance.

He turned away again and shut the door, feeling like a stranger, an intruder in this place he should have been calling home, saying was safe.

There were voices downstairs. They were voices he should have recognized, but he didn't right now, because he was too lost in the moment, staring at the floor, letting his eyes brim with tears. He didn't know why, but he felt like crying.

The voices were louder now, coming for him, coming to get him.

Had they forgotten him too?

He turned to face the voices as the owners came into view, and the sound stopped abruptly, when those eyes saw him, disbelieving and unsure.

"Naruto?" the elder one asked, his voice and tone disbelieving, as if he expected him to vanish into thin air at any second, like an illusion.
He gave a curt nod, then returned to staring at the floor, even as Iruka laid a hand upon his shoulder and started to speak to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sasuke couldn't stand sitting next to Naruto, not then at that moment in time, nor in that place. The wind was bitter, made worse by the fact they were sitting on top of a hill, with nothing to protect them from the force of it.

What was worse was that Naruto wasn't talking to him. The blond had called him up there to talk with him, about what, he didn't know. And now, they weren't talking at all. He didn't think they'd said anything at all.

If the blond had wanted to talk to him, he should have been talking, not sitting there, staring down the embankment at the frozen river snaking its way through the valley. Naruto's depressive silence wasn't helping him anymore than it was helping Naruto.

It was so very quiet here, and that chilled him to the bone. Naruto was never quiet. Naruto was loud and abrasive, and he was cheerful. It hurt to see him like this, more than Sasuke would admit. What had happened to the boy he loved?

Did he love him?

He didn't really know, he mused. He didn't want to be there right then, he didn't want to be with him then, but if he didn't want to be with him, why had he thrown such a fit when he'd gone away? He shook his head. It was too confusing.

Naruto looked as pale as the snow. His face was a translucent mirror, but he couldn't see anything but his reflection in the blue depths of the other's eyes. It disturbed him, and he wished he was anywhere but there. He wasn't good at dealing with pain, because he'd never learned to deal with it in what would be deemed a proper way. How could he help someone if he couldn't help himself?

He started to stand up, frozen from having sat too long in the cold, when Naruto's voice cut through the air, colder than the winter that surrounded them. "Sasuke. . ."

The older boy stopped and looked at him, waiting for the blond to finish speaking. Naruto threw his gaze up to the sky, watching as the first of the snowflakes started to fall from the heavens. "I'm leaving."

Sasuke stared at him for a moment, then, finding his voice again, managed to ask, "What?" though his whisper was whisked away on the wind.

Naruto didn't look at him, but nodded, looking back to the river. "I'm leaving. I just can't stand being here anymore. I don't belong."

"What do you mean?"

Surprisingly, Sasuke sounded more confused than cynical.

Naruto still refused to look at him. "I've got to get away from here. I can't decide between two choices, so I'll make myself a third choice."

It was strange to hear logic fall from Naruto's lips, but there it was, a bold statement of what was to be done in a certain situation. Sasuke felt his heart skip erratically and his stomach churned with illness brought on by nervousness. It was suddenly all too clear what Naruto meant.

The blond stood up, jamming his hands in his coat pockets. He seemed very far away, his eyes steadily focussed on the horizon. "It's the only thing to do."

"So. . .that's it?" Sasuke asked, feeling a little put out.

He'd just got Naruto back, only to have him slip through his fingers again? Something wasn't fair. He'd thought they'd at least go out with some sort of monumental fight or something like that. This was. . .

This was just heartbreaking.

It was like hearing someone was dead. For a little while, you just felt dead inside, numb, unable to comprehend it. Then slowly, you came to realize that they were gone, and you started to correct yourself - 'was', instead of 'is', 'had' instead of 'has' and all that sort of thing, and then one morning, you woke up and you were shaken to the core that. This. Person. Was. Dead. It was a cold hard fact, like swallowing nails, or a slap in the face as you sat there and realized that this wouldn't happen ever again, and they wouldn't talk to you, touch you, listen to you, look at you, and that they were buried under six feet of earth.

At least, that was how he'd felt when his parents died. He'd been so numb and disbelieving at first, and then, started to use past tense when referring to them, and then, it had all come crashing down on him and he'd woken up one morning so sick with grief that he'd wanted to die.

Too bad he'd been sloppy at committing suicide.

This, this was like being told someone was dead. You knew it had happened, but you refused to believe it, and one day, it would hit you like a ton of bricks.

It almost hurt to breath, though he wasn't sure if it was from the cold air or the panic rushing through him. He was shaking, though he might have been colder on the inside than on the outside.
"Naruto," he said shakily, trying to hold it together. He wouldn't break down in front of Naruto, not now.

He watched his breath rise into the air. The sun was setting quickly. The world was getting dark.

In the twilight haze, Naruto turned to look at him, and he seemed almost like a shadow, like the memory of someone you knew you had known, but couldn't remember anymore. Would Naruto fade like that?

"Naruto."

He tried to say something other than that, but his mind had shut down, making itself blank, so it didn't have to think, didn't have to process what was happening. It was trying to make him numb.

Naruto waited for him to say something for a few more seconds, before muttering something and walking past him, the snow crunching under his feet. "Bye," he said, and he said it so casually that it seemed like he hadn't said those things, and that they'd go on just like always, tomorrow and the next day and forever.

Forever was shattered into a long series of bleak, dull days with no sunshine as everyone marched on, marching toward their graves.

Sasuke sat in the snow, cold, miserable and frozen, for what seemed like forever, while darkness crashed down over the world and the temperature plummeted.

Fumbling in the dark, he finally moved, clutching at something in his coat pocket, pulling it out, and he knocked it back, flopping back into the snow and finding some much needed relief.

He needed to be numb.

- - - - - - - - - -

Itachi was watching. He'd been watching for a little while now, as soon as it started to get dark. He'd watched more intently when the snow started to fall, but the snowfall did not bring Sasuke to the house.

It was now well after seven o'clock and dinner had gone cold, untouched by worried people too afraid to eat.

The streetlights glowed softly through the snow, creating an orange like glow on the street below. Everything seemed so quiet. Underneath the seeming peacefulness, lay quiet unrest.

Itachi turned away from the window, his palms cold from pressed against the glass. He wouldn't admit it, but he was worried about Sasuke.

He wandered through the darkness of his room, finding, somehow, the crumpled sheets of his bed. He flopped down on the soft mess, curling up as his thoughts curled inward. Vacantly, he watched the snow falling outside.

He remembered when they'd first started to go wrong, when the relations between brothers had soured.

Sasuke had been eight at the time, and he'd been thirteen, just on the verge of becoming a confused adolescent.

They'd seen their parents for the last time on a night like this. They'd been headed out for some reason or another - a detail he'd blocked, or forgotten - and he remembered how he couldn't help but think that they might die, because the roads were slippery, and the snow was oh-so-thick. He remembered standing in front of the door, his fingers freezing, as Sasuke repeatedly hugged either parent, tears forming in his eyes, begging them to let him go.

He'd been acting as if he knew it would be the last time he'd ever seen them. And the little boy had stood there and waved to his parents as they drove off, and Itachi just watched him, one hand on the door, ready to disappear back inside.

It had been less than twenty-four hours when they got that phone call. He recalled now, that when he broke the news to Sasuke, the little boy had just woken up from his sleep, and it had taken him a few minutes to get Sasuke to understand what he was saying.

Then, the little brat, headstrong and stubborn as always, had screamed at him, and started to cry, and he'd run down the stairs and out the door, and stood there, in his pyjamas, in the snow, staring at the road, as if expecting to see their parents' car come back up the road at any moment.

Itachi, feeling weighed down enough by his own feelings, wandered inside, shutting and locking the door, leaving Sasuke to stay outside, since he wanted to wait for something that would never happen.

Sasuke had been sick at the service, because he'd caught a terrible cold from that night, and he looked almost like a corpse himself - so pale and small, so dead because he wouldn't smile, and because his eyes were filled with nothing - the void created by a loss. His eyes had been red and puffy, and he'd kept rubbing them, as if they'd irritated him, and Itachi thought they must have because he'd cried so much, the little idiot.

Itachi sighed and turned over, trying to keep himself warm. It had been seven years since then, and he had to admit, neither of them had recovered from it. He was cold and distant, and Sasuke had become the same way.
The door opened, just a little bit, and someone slid into the room, like a shadow, and then the door clicked shut behind them.

Orochimaru sat down beside him, offering him a cup of something hot. He took it mindlessly, not bothering to note what it tasted like when he sipped it. Neither one of them said anything, just watching the snow fall outside the window.

Itachi sighed at last, and put down his drink. "I'm going to look for him."

Orochimaru rolled his eyes. "He's probably just at Naruto's."

"He would have called," the younger boy asserted, finding his coat from some pile of clothes on the ground. He put the jacket on, fastening it and walking out of the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Kakashi and Iruka sat in the kitchen, silence reigning between them. Iruka kept glancing toward the staircase, indicating that he was worried about Naruto.

Konohamaru was playing quietly, for once, in the living room.

Iruka sighed for what must have been the millionth time that evening. He'd been sighing ever since Naruto had come home and locked himself in his room, without so much as a word, or a gesture in greeting. It was simply un-Naruto like.

Of course, Naruto had been acting strangely since he came back, and Iruka couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the boy while he'd been missing. It had changed him, for the worse, obviously, but Iruka hadn't quite extracted the details yet, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Kakashi was watching him, intently. He could feel those sharp eyes locked on him, monitoring him, reading his internal thoughts and actions. It was one of those things he admired and hated about Kakashi at the same time. The fact that he could be so in tune with someone as to read them like an open book was astounding. Iruka hated it because it always laid him bare in front of the older man, even if he wanted to be locked up tight.

He shifted uncomfortably at the feeling and looked back at his mug of tea, swirling it slightly so that the dregs were disrupted and floated around, as if in a whirlwind. It had gone cold by now, most likely, and he wasn't going to drink the rest of it anyways.

Kakashi shifted so that he was leaning his head against his hand. "If you're that worried about him, talk to him."

Iruka shook his head, closing his eyes. "I've tried that already. He avoids questions, and he only answers yes or no, and sometimes, not at all."
Kakashi looked at him, this grave 'I-know-better-than-you' look. "Maybe you're not asking the right questions."

Iruka looked at the silver-haired man, who had already hid his face behind the rim of his mug. He sighed and shook his head, smiling slightly.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Falling snow was all there was, floating down out of the dark sky, making him blink irregularly, as it hit him in the eyes. It was strewn through his locks, across his clothes, and he was frozen from head to toe, and he probably had frostbite, but at this point he didn't care.

And all at once, there was something clouding his vision, a dark angel of sorts. Dark eyes looked down at him, dark locks nearly brushed his skin as the angel leaned in close to him. It was still too dark to make out their features though. Snow was strewn threw the angel's locks too.

"Sasuke. . .what the hell are you doing?"

That was his brother. Startled, he sat up, brushing the snow off him hastily. "Nothing!" he cried defensively.

He shivered. Moving made him realize how cold he really was. His head throbbed with the sudden movement, and he winced, placing a freezing hand to his freezing face.

Itachi was looking at him rather cynically. "Of course you were doing nothing, lying out in the snow at eight o'clock," he muttered sarcastically, turning about.

Sasuke said nothing but watched his brother turn and go, finally disappearing back into the snow. At long last, he got to his feet, his cold joints aching with every movement. He teetered, stiffly across the field, back toward the road, and back toward his home.

Shivering and rubbing his arms, he stopped suddenly, and sneezed.

Hurriedly, he quickened his pace to get home as fast as he could, before he got any colder, or any sicker.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Naruto had decided that the best way to go was not to tell anyone and simply leave. He came to that conclusion, reasoning that if he told anyone, they would either try to stop him, come with him, or offer him teary goodbyes, which was not something he wanted to deal with.

Unfortunately for himself, he was a bit of a sentimental fool, and he felt a little bad for giving Sasuke the cold shoulder last night, and being very curt and ass-like, and now, he'd managed to delay his departure for a few days at least.

The sappy, sentimental part of him wanted to give Sasuke a proper 'lover's parting' type goodbye, and so, intending to leave, with all his stuff slung over his shoulder, he'd showed up at the Uchiha residence, and found out that Sasuke was sick in bed.

Now, his conscience was making him sit next to the bed-ridden boy, and blaming Sasuke's rather bad cold on himself. If there was one thing he was good at, it was blaming himself when the people close to him got hurt.

So now, he was stuck playing nursemaid to Sasuke because he felt guilty and then, he'd most likely come down with the cold. Either way, it looked as if he wasn't going anywhere for a couple of days at least.

He was stirred from his thoughts by Sasuke coughing and turning over, looking at him through bleary eyes. The ebony-haired boy sniffed loudly, and hacked, "I thought you were leaving?"

Naruto shook his head, biting his lip, then reached out to smooth Sasuke's rumpled hair. "I can't leave you like this," he murmured, not caring how sappy it sounded.

Sasuke smiled, sort of, because Naruto had to imagine it was pretty hard to smile being as sick as he was, then snuggled down into the blankets, closing his eyes. Naruto watched his soon to be ex for a moment or two, then said, softly, "Would you like to hear a story?"

Sasuke shook his head, then lay still for a moment or two, before he started to cough again. "Tissue," he murmured meekly, sitting up slightly and reaching out.

Naruto held the box out to him. Sasuke took a bunch of tissues and laid back down, drowning his face with the tissues. Naruto grimaced and looked at the floor.

Why did he have to feel so guilty over everything? It wasn't his fault that Sasuke was an idiot who sat out in the cold too long. It wasn't his fault the other boy was sick. It wasn't his fault his mother had cast him out and it wasn't his fault his mother was dead.

So why did he feel like it was all his fault?

Maybe, just maybe, this was some deep-seated desire to protect those he was close to, and when he failed to keep them safe from harm, he felt that it was his fault. Maybe he wanted to protect them because he was scared of losing them.

It made sense. It made too much sense.

He dropped the tissue box, rather suddenly, having come to such a startling revelation about himself. Sasuke glanced at him, and he sat there, staring wide-eyed at the floor, shaking slightly.
"Sasuke," he croaked, refusing to look up, still too shocked by his discovery.

The dark-haired boy looked at him curiously, or as best as he could, without over-exerting himself. He ended up looking a cross between curious and dead.

"I. . .I wanna protect you," Naruto stumbled, unsure of his words, and fumbling for them.

Sasuke looked at him, more curious now, head tilted to the side. "What?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and cracking from the rawness of his throat.

Naruto kept looking at the floor, trying to rein in his racing thoughts, so that he could process them and communicate them to his confused lover. "I want to protect you. I want to keep you safe; I don't want anything to hurt you. I. . .I. . ."

He stopped there, not sure what to say beyond that. He knew his next words were on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't sure that Sasuke was ready to hear them or that he was ready to say them.

Somebody higher than him didn't care and he was compelled to say them anyways, ready or not.

"I love you."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Sakura and Ino stopped their noisy chattering, pausing as the sound of piano music filled the hallway. They glanced at each other, startled, then back toward the music room doors. The question was on both of their lips, but neither asked.

Cautiously, as if afraid of what they might find, they peered about the frame of the open door, looking into the music room, and their hopes, however foolish they were, were crushed, as they rightfully should have been.

It was not the person they had hoped it was playing the piano. It was Kakashi, the guys' gym teacher and both girls sighed, looking at each other and shaking their heads in disappointment. They hadn't heard a word about Naruto all week, and they'd been hoping that maybe, after the weekend, news would arrive, if only for the sake of Sasuke.

Kakashi had stopped playing, and he was talking to someone now. For a second, the two girls thought they'd been caught, and almost reacted, when they heard footsteps, and then, blond hair came into view.

Naruto, like the sprite he was, was back out of the picture almost instantly, the door blocking their view of him, until he practically shoved Kakashi aside and sat down on the piano. "Not bad for an old pervert," he was saying, and the two girls nearly giggled in glee.
Naruto was back! Oh, just wait until they told Sasuke! That was, if Sasuke didn't already know, which he probably did, considering Naruto was. . .with him.

They grinned at each other, for once, happy to see the annoying blond git, and pressed fingers to each others smiling lips in an effort to keep quiet. They both winced as the sound of fingers being cracked echoed.

They nodded at each other, smiling, saying, almost in unison, "I knew he was an excellent pianist."

Their eyes snapped open and they glared at each other, pointing accusing fingers and saying, "You did not! You thought he would be horrible!"

With that, they descended into petty squabbling over whom had thought what about Naruto's playing ability when they'd first found him in the band. At last, Sakura, ever the more mature of the two girls, tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, rather huffily, "Whatever, Ino. What matters is that he can play."

What else mattered was that he was back, because back was good. Everything was right again in the world, even though this event had actually affected them little.

Sakura happened to glance at the clock then, and deemed that it was an acceptable time to show up to band class. Brushing by Ino, she dashed into the classroom, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Naruto!"

The blond boy hit a sour note and turned back to look at her, seemingly surprised by her sudden happiness at seeing him. "Good morning, Sakura," he said, his voice still shocked and surprised.

She practically threw herself about his neck. "Naruto! I'm so glad to see you!" she chirped.

Ino, not one to be left out, also wrapped herself about the younger boy, cooing about how pleased she was that he was back. Naruto could only stare ahead stupidly, blinking from time to time. What the hell was going on here?

Kakashi just looked amused.

At one point, Naruto would have been giddily happy to have just one, let alone two, females fawn over him like this, but not right now. He still had a lot on his mind, and he wanted to think about it, though this, and being at school wasn't helping much.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity, the girls finished with hug-throttling him and let go of him, allowing him some freedom in movement again. They slid over to their seats and sat down, chattering, until one of them (he was unsure which one now) said, "So, where's Sasuke?"

He'd thought he'd died in that instant. He had run out on Sasuke a little after he made the embarrassing mistake of telling him he loved him, and he hadn't spoken to him, or seen him since. He felt a little guilty for doing that - okay, a lot guilty, but he didn't want to face Sasuke after he'd said that.

He was also still meditating on whether or not he should leave. He still felt out of sorts, and out of place. He still felt that leaving, and starting anew would be the best thing for him. But, he felt differently now, because he'd realized that he wanted to protect everyone around him. He knew he was going to be hurting them by leaving, but in the end. . .

Was he protecting them from some greater hurt by leaving?

Maybe. Maybe by leaving, he was protecting them, because he was just going to be a burden in the end. Maybe some greater hurt was coming to him, and then, by staying, they'd all suffer with him.

But he didn't want to leave, not at least until he'd heard Sasuke openly reject him. There was always the chance that the older boy wouldn't crush him for saying that to him, or something silly along those lines, but he just couldn't leave until it was severed.

This was so very confusing. He was frustrated with it all. He was tired of all the questions, tired of all the soul-searching, tired of everything and he just wanted to go to sleep, and maybe when he woke up, he'd have some goddamn answers!

He banged his fists on the piano, only to look up and glance at the changes that had occurred while he was lost in deep thought.

The clock read five to eight, the start time of practice. Most of the band had filtered in, and set-up, with the exception of Sasuke, which was really no surprise considering how sick the boy was. Iruka was moving his music stand to the front of the class and yelling at Orochimaru to get out of the string section, and back into the brass section, and no, he did not care that said Orochimaru had been talking to Itachi! Or so he said. Kakashi was gone and Ino and Sakura had long since abandoned trying to get an answer out of him about Sasuke.

Naruto sighed and shuffled, digging into his backpack and fishing out his music, which he propped up on the piano. He cracked his fingers, and he could feel Iruka's glare on the back of his head. He knew the teacher hated it when he did that - said it would give him arthritis.

At this point, Naruto didn't care. He had more important things to worry about. Like whether or not Sasuke would call him stupid, and leave him, or something like that.

How he hated being insecure. After years of ridicule, and mockery, however, it was just something that came naturally.

The band was starting to make some sour squeaking noises now, starting to warm up and get ready to play. Iruka was placing names to faces. He needed everyone to attend every single practice from this week on until the competition, in about eight weeks, and then, a school concert the week after that.

Naruto sighed, playing the opening bars of the song, which was his solo, and listened to the world quiet down around him. He didn't really care, though, because he was thinking again. His fingers moved of their own accord, and the music written on the sheet didn't really make much sense.

He and Sasuke. . .

They'd been through quite a lot of shit, but he wasn't sure what it had done to them, as people, and as a couple. It seemed to have ripped them apart, and brought them closer at the same time. He couldn't say which way they'd been pulled more, though.

The rest of the band cut in, flaring up loudly, especially the damn brass section. He'd always hated the brass section, ever since about grade seven, because all the brass players were immature and tended to use playing the instrument as an excuse to make rude noises and excessively loud noises.

He glanced back over his shoulder and noted Orochimaru in the brass section (where he was supposed to be, according to Iruka). He supposed things hadn't changed much, and the brass players were still immature, as always. He sighed, turning his sights back to the music.

Oh, hurrah, speaking of brass, it was time for their solo. He was sorely tempted to just keep playing through it, although he knew Iruka would stop them and ask what the hell he was doing. He couldn't say he was being spiteful, however, and he wasn't in the mood to come up with a brilliant excuse.

The door, which had been closed up till this point, because some of the teachers in nearby classrooms had complained that the band made too much noise while they were preparing lessons, creaked open, the sound lost under the blare of the brass.

Somebody coughed, however, rather loudly, and the band member's heads turned to see who it was, a couple of the trumpets giving a sick last warble as their players' let the note die off.

Naruto took one look at the new-comer and tried his very best to bury himself in the corner of the room, or at least, become one with the piano. It apparently didn't work very well, because even though he was 'hiding', he could still feel that gaze on him.

Most of the band, however, couldn't decipher what was going on. Sasuke was there, though late, which was something he was never, and he looked about as healthy as a corpse. He was shaking like a leaf in a gale, and he looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed, his hair sticking up in odd places. What made the image really complete, however, was that he hadn't even bothered to change into jeans, or something proper like that, but rather, was still in his pyjama pants, which, thankfully, had no print on them.
Iruka stared at the formerly missing flute-player, then decided it would have been better had he not shown up at all, rather than in this condition. "Sasuke," he started, but the boy coughed, rather violently, cutting him off.

He threw an apologetic look at Iruka, croaked, "Sorry," then hurried down the steps, as fast as he could without misjudging his steps, because everything was kind of spinning. He hated fevers.

In the midst of the band, Itachi was shaking his head in dismay and anger. He'd told Sasuke to stay at home, in bed, and he'd thought his little brother had more sense than to pull something like this. He glanced at the clock, noting that there was still time to get him home before class actually started.

Naruto wished that the floor would open up and either swallow him, or Sasuke, because this was starting to look like a confrontation, or a conversation he wanted to avoid altogether, let alone trying to avoid it in front of the entire band.

The floor wasn't quite so co-operative, however, and when Sasuke sat down on the piano bench, he was still sitting there. Bracing himself for the worst, he looked at Sasuke, darkly, waiting to hear what the boy had come all that way to say.

Sasuke almost looked like he was going to cry. Naruto bit his lip, keeping himself from trying to fulfill that urge to protect, by reaching out to comfort the other boy.

Sasuke's voice was shaky when he did speak, indicating he wasn't well, and that he really didn't want to say this. Naruto wished he could close his ears, like he could close his eyes.

"Naruto, I. . ."

- - - - - - - - - - -