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Chapter 9: Walking in Unstraight Lines
Alternate Titles - Neji and Gaara Get an Inside Joke, or Neji and Shikamaru; Philosophers at Heart?
AN: Dude! I'm sorry this wasn't up Sunday, but the power at my house went out in the morning due to a freakin' snow storm, and didn't come back on until Monday afternoon. I brushed my teeth with boiled snow - dead serious. Besides, during the snow storm I decided to write one little bit of a scene to put on the end, just cause.
Disclaimer: - insert witty disclaimer here -Bright red vermillion, against, destroying, engulfing white.
Sinking, so far, so fast, barely able to breath.
The vermillion clawed at his skin, dancing furiously in and around him. No longer was the cold pleasant, was the pain welcome. It became nearly too much for him to even comprehend, so blinding and unforgiving, a muteness that stifled all.
Forgive me…
Blank and numb, he tried so hard, but there was only coldness and pain against his mouth, only bitter liquid in his lungs. His body was weighted, as he began to crumble, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Cold hands, wrapping around his neck, binding. Refuse to let go…
Helplessness took over as he fell, and not even a sound left his lips. It was silent, save the liquid rushing past him, as the light faded, growing smaller and smaller, so much that he could barely grasp it.
Darkness force fed him, but he refused to swallow. Somehow, it just didn't seem worth it anymore. Frozen and dimming, he was almost about to let go, to let it have his way with him. He was becoming a thin soul barely able to spread over the distance.
But a warmth blossomed, from deep within his chest, pushing up through him. Brilliant and smooth against him, it separated him from the red, disolving the ribbons of crimson that had bound themselves so tightly around him. He wasn't sure how, but when he opened his eyes it was gone, small droplets disappearing within the currents of milk. The light began to fade, though he could still feel it, the pounding inside of him. Clutching the skin above it, he found himself able to breathe once more.
And as he looked up, he discovered a hand peeking through the white, beckoning once more.
'Maybe…I do want to be saved.'
o
Love…
Such a simple word that held such vastness, and yet no clue to what it actually was. It manifested within Gaara's head, whispering to him at every waking moment and even in the few hours he slept. His conversations with Neji had been haunting him all weekend. Briefly he'd visited the playground, but there were only small children there and no sign of the ivory-eyed boy. That word, love, it somehow got under his skin, squirming and carving it's name. An itchy wound opened inside of him, calling out, and he couldn't seem to quiet it.
So finally, he'd decided to ask Temari. Not directly, mind you. Asking her What is love? outright didn't seem at all like a smart thing to do. She would most likely proceed to bother him about it all day and all night until he either murdered her or said something he'd most likely regret, since she'd returned to her normal self Saturday morning.
On Sunday afternoon, he knocked on her bedroom door. Cautiously, his sister opened the door, raising an eyebrow at his presence. His blank expression was unnerving, even after the many years she'd been exposed to it.
"May I borrow one of your poetry books?" he asked quietly, much to her surprise. She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. A sheen came across her eyes, as she reached up to the highest shelf on the bookcase, and pulled out a rather dusty and old looking book. A blood-red silk ribbon was attached to the inside, bookmarking a page near the middle. With shaking hands, Temari presented it to him.
"This," she murmured, "Belonged to Mom. I found it in the attic at the old house a few years ago, and kept it. I have some other stuff of hers but…. I'm sorry, you don't care about that. You can keep it for as long as you want. I won't tell Kankurou."
She gave him a smile, and he went back to his room. All lights were turned off, so that only the silver beams that filtered through the clouds were let in. He opened it to the first page, running his fingers over the rough paper, small blots of ink scattered randomly over it. It looked faded and worn, but adored. Three words had been written in loopy handwriting for the title, different from the type of the rest of the book.
Belongs to Rain…
Gaara eventually had to use a lamp to read, and stayed up all night - but he still barely read a fifth of it. He re-read each page at least three times, trying to find some kind of meaning to the phrases. Each poem was different, some filled with light and rhyme, others twisted and dark, stilling his heart. The same words had been read and cherished, by someone he didn't know, but someone who was still a large part of who he was…
And he still didn't have an answer as to what love was.
But then again, maybe there was no answer.
He thought of asking Neji, but dismissed this option as well. Neji was his only friend. The only person who had ever really liked him in all his life, that hadn't hated him…. Somehow, he couldn't. He couldn't risk putting in danger something so fragile. It meant too much. And when you don't have much that means anything, you do all you can to hang onto it.
o
As the wheel of time turns, some things fade, while others grow stronger. The cycle never stops; Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring…. The warmth of summer fades, and the world prepares itself for sleep, days growing shorter, as night grows longer. The dream that is Winter settles, as the fruits of the Earth are harvested. The Moon, low and full in the sky, watches kindly over Her children, and weeps as the Sun is hidden away, but knows He will return in the spring, as brilliant and warm as ever.
That Monday morning, the gutters were filled with dead leaves, the colour sucked out of them. However, many trees still wore fire upon their branches, bright against the greying sky. Hallowe'en, earlier known and still known to some as Samhain, was approaching rapidly, and the veil between the world's was about to reach it's thinnest point. You could feel it on the wind, how it whispered in your ear, some voices kind, others full of malice. It wasn't like depicted on TV; restless spirits and vampires choosing to terrorize people who entered their abodes. Simply a time to look back and remember, as the cycle will soon begin anew. To remember those who have passed on…
The wheel continues to turn…
o
"Mondays suck," was all Kankurou could manage, as Temari pulled him out the door, still half-asleep. Gaara waited on the side-walk, his arms crossed and a pensive/impatient look about his face.
Mariko waved from the kitchen window. She'd arrived home Saturday afternoon, with the unfortunate news that she'd have to be leaving them alone for short periods of time over the next few months, as her aunt had fallen and broke her hip. Her return had restored both sanity and edible food to the household.
"It's your fault," Temari protested, as she dragged him along by the sleeve, "You were the one who was up so late last night! Geez, you know it's impossible to write an essay in a day!"
"Is not!" the oldest boy protested, but the bickering stopped with Gaara's annoyed sigh, meeting heavily the air, though the two siblings continued glaring at eachother. Kankurou yawned, shrugging off his drowsiness.
"I mean, really, who needs sleep?"
Temari elbowed him in the gut, and Gaara turned back briefly to make sure they hadn't killed eachother. But even in that quick instance, both caught something hiding beneath his eyes. Something none of the three could place.
o
"You look tired," Neji commented from beside the pale green locker door. He leaned against the locker beside Gaara's, as the shorter boy shuffled through his things. As usual, the inside was a disaster; books, paper and other assorted items all piled together to make what is called mess. Gaara's bag had been lost within it, and he was doing all he could to find it.
"Get enough sleep?" the dark-haired boy continued, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.
"I was reading," Gaara said, finally catching a glimpse of the black material of his backpack. He took hold of it, and pulled, though it remained mostly stuck.
"Oh? What book?"
With one strong tug, the bag came loose, sending Gaara stumbling backwards along with an array of text books and binders. Off-balance, he felt himself falling bakwards, before a hand firmly caught the material of his sleeve and pulled him upright. A few seconds passed, during which Gaara was able to catch his breath, and Neji reluctantly let go of his shirt.
"Sorry."
"There's no need to be."
Gaara knelt to the ground, shoving his things back into his locker, then reaching within the folds of black material, his hands found the textured cover. Holding it in one hand, he let the strap of his bag rest in the crook of his arm as they began walking down the semi-crowded hall. Running his fingertips over the uneven, yellowed pages, Gaara tried to form words on his tongue. And as usual, Neji let him take his time. But some people dislike how slow time can be sometimes, and disrespect it altogether. Such was the case with Uzumaki Naruto.
"Hey guys!" came his yell, as he ran up behind the pair. Gaara startled and Neji's eyebrow twitched slightly as the blonde leaned an arm on each other their shoulders, forcing a small distance between them.
"Are you guys eating outside again?" he asked, rather obnoxiously.
"We were going to, yes," Neji answered, each word stressed.
"Dude! You should come and eat in the cafeteria with the rest of us!" Naruto insisted, firmly pushing both to the left. Despite muttered protests from Neji, and blank stares from Gaara, they ended up sitting at one of the two tables Naruto's group had packed themselves into. Gaara sat across from Neji, with the nearly overwhelming presence of Ino to his right. Right off the bat she began ranting to him about just how cute his haircut was, and his mother's book was slipped back into his bag, forgotten for the time being.
And beside Neji was Naruto, who had taken to loudly slurping his ramen - much to the annoyment of Sasuke, who had somehow been squished between the blonde and Sakura. Just a few minutes in, the goth felt a tap on his shoulder. Behind him stood a girl one year older, whose top showed an indecent amount of cleavage. She leaned down next to him, practically shoving Sakura out of the way.
"Hey, Sasuke…" she purred, "You know, there's a dance this Friday and-"
"No."
"What?"
But Sasuke had already turned back around. The rejected girl (no one actually knew her name, she was simply known as Whore #09) stomped off, while Sakura and Ino both mocked her. While they were doing so, Sasuke leaned his head a little towards Naruto, and mumbled quietly, "Jealous?"
Naruto glared back, slurping his ramen. "Not on your life."
Meanwhile, at the second table, Shikamaru leaned over to Kiba.
"How many is that now?"
The wild-eyed boy fished a notepad out of his pocket, making a mark on one of the pages. "That would be the third one to ask Sasuke today, but in the grand scheme of things…. Eight."
Shikamaru whistled in response, glancing across the table. "You're nearly out of the running then, Chouji. I told you, it's gonna be at least ten."
Chouji shrugged and kept on eating. Meanwhile, TenTen (sitting beside Ino) had taken to consoling Lee. He stared at the table, head bowed, barely responding to her words.
"Come on, Lee," she pleaded, "It's not the end of the world. Lots of people get rejected - er, sorry, that was the wrong word. Turned down. Lots of people get turned down! Don't worry about it, really! If it makes you feel any better, I'll go to the dance with you, since no one is going to ask me anyways."
Ino snorted. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, TenTen."
The bun-haired girl sipped her soda quietly. "It's alright, Ino, you don't have to pay people to ask me out again. I don't mind going with Lee."
Lee sighed, and began poking at his pasta. "No, TenTen. Your sacrifice is most noble, but you don't have to waste such a youthful experience on my pitiful self."
'God, he sounds like Gai-sensei more everyday,' she thought fearfully, referring to their English teacher, who had a tendency to take entire classes up by ranting about how everyone was wasting their youth or something of that sort. (AN to Kokuei no Onchuu: Remind you of anyone?)
"So, Gaara, you're like, coming to the dance, right?" asked Ino, leaning closer to said teen.
"I… don't…"
"Of course you are!" Ino said, stealing one his cookies, "And Neji's coming too!"
Neji glared at her, but just like with the vending machine, it had no effect.
"You don't have to wear a costume or anything," Ino continued, "But you might want to wear something nice. Not that I'm insulting your fashion sense or anything, it's just that- Oh, you know what? You would look really, and I mean really, really cute in-"
"Ino?"
She turned innocently to Neji. "Yes?"
"If we agree to go, will you shut up?" She nodded eagerly, and he sighed. "Fine. We'll go."
Satisfied, Ino went back to pestering TenTen. Naruto was trying to attract Sakura's attention (not doing a very good job, mind you) leaving Gaara and Neji to themselves for probably the first time all lunch hour.
"You seem overwhelmed," Neji told him, and Gaara nodded reluctantly. It was true; the amount of energy in those two tables was probably enough to power the entire town. You know, if that was possible….
"Oh, right. The book." Gaara instictively reached for his bag, but a wave of Neji's hand stopped him.
"Don't show me here; it'll get dirty, no doubt. How about we go to the park after school?"
Gaara nodded in agreement, daring a smile.
o
After lunch on Mondays came art, which wasn't so bad. Gaara could barely pay attention though, his mind was buzzing with all that was happening. For starters, he was going to this 'dance' thing. He had a vague idea of what happened, since he'd nver actually been to one, nor been interested in going. Thoughts overflowing he turned his focus to that which at in front of him.
Which was a large lump of greyish clay, that he was somehow supposed to make into emotion.
That was just about all the instruction Kakashi had given them at the begginning of class, before immersing himself in his 'literature' once again. Music blared from the stereo in the back, and light chatter filled the room. At another table, Neji was hard at work at whatever he was making, as was just about everyone else. But Gaara couldn't quite think of anything. He poked at the clay with wet fingers, but he still couldn't see anything. So he decided to turn to Sasuke for advice.
"What're you making?" he asked casually but still coldly, watching Sasuke strike at his lump with a popsicle stick.
"Hate."
Didn't see that one coming.
Maybe, Gaara thought, he could just leave the lump as it was and say it was boredom. Boredom wasn't really an emotion though, and he really doubed Kakashi would believe him. He pressed his fingers into the cold surface again, feeling it mold to his desire. It was an odd feeling, especially since the clay was so lacking in warmth, and left his fingers with a strange texture. It wouldn't shape properly either, and kept squishing in the wrong direction or breaking apart. Gaara was glad they had a double period, as twenty minutes had passed, as he still had nothing, while everyone else seemed to at least have something.
"How're you doing?" a voice came from behind him, and he found Neji peering over his shoulder.
"Not so good."
"Well, what are you trying to make?" Neji inquired, leaning a little on Gaara's shoulder for balance. His hands had been washed, and unlike Gaara's, were free of clay.
In response, Gaara shrugged, and poked at the lump. He heard Neji laughed, and the taller boy dipped his hands in the small cup of water on the table.
"You have to work the clay, first of all," he said, not in a condescending manner, but a kind, helpful one. He began kneading the grey mass, as Gaara watched. Soon, Neji had the clay in a more shapable state, his hands grey, small chunks hiding under his short fingernails. His movement was peculiar to Gaara, the way his hands flitted here and there, creating something, only to make it into something else seconds later, eventually returning it to blob shape.
"Give me your hands," he requested softly, and Gaara complied. Neji's skin, smooth and clammy from the clay, covered his just lightly. They settled into the touch quickly, though the air seemed to get just a little thicker.
"Have any ideas?" Neji asked, using Gaara's hands to roll the clay into a ball.
"I'm not sure," the red head stated, "I don't really know how to make anything."
"Well then, just make something," Neji continued, "Art - real art - isn't set within straight lines and held by reality. Real art is it's own universe, of things that can't exist where we are. Set within rules and limits, you can never truly be free. It's this bland and ugly reality that makes people's minds so unaccepting of what's different, what is truly beautiful. A world without variegation would be no more than a prison. Living would become a chore. Art is taking our world, and capturing how fascinating and wonderful every little thing is…"
His hands lifted themselves from Gaara's, and the green-eyed boy wished that his friend hadn't stopped talking. It had been comforting, in a way.
"What I meant to say was… just do what you feel like," Neji shrugged, unsatisfied with his explanation, but caught the look Kakashi was giving him, and nodded to Gaara before making his way back to his desk.
Neji's words in mind, Gaara let his fingers sink into the clay. He let his hands go where ever, his thoughts drifting father and farther away. Still, things evaded him, ducking into corners, and hiding behind the many doors. He ran down corridors, chasing it, and yet it laughed, taunting him and his childish search. Candles lit themselevs along the path he divined. He reached his hands into the darkness that was always a step ahead, and snapped at his heels from behind. The inky substance clung to him, and he pulled back, finding in his grasp something he couldn't quite see. So vivid it was painful to look into, it heated his hand, not quite enough to cause a burn.
He wasn't even aware of the reality around him, until he heard a crash from across the room. Looking up, he discovered it had just been Naruto leaning too far back on his chair. Again.
"Idiot," Sasuke muttered from Gaara's right, but a little bit of a smile graced his lips.
Blinking, the red head looked to the clock, discovering there was less than ten minutes until the second art period ended. Then in front of him he discovered something. Just quite what was beyond him. But he liked it better that way.
What he had made was hard to desribe with words - you'd need to see it to really understand. The curving appendages that twisted upwards and out, as if unwrapping and falling away. It was far from perfect; the texture uneven and you could see streaks and fingerprints. But he kind of liked it.
At Kakashi's word, the class began to clean up, putting their works on plastic plates with their name and the emotion written on it. Gaara paused, thinking a moment before deciding what it was - or what he thought it was.
Friendship…
Alright, so maybe that wasn't an emotion. But he couldn't put it into one word. It was… It was the warmth he felt with Neji, maybe what was starting with other people. It was how vulnerable, yet confortable, he felt in Neji's presence. That which spurred his heart, and though he chased it, he could never quite capture it. It swam in his mouth, but there was no sound. No, there was no word for it.
Or maybe, no word he was prepared to say just then.
o
"Belongs to Rain…"
Neji was perched on the monkey bars, legs swinging back and forth thoughtfully. Gaara had found himself a seat on one of the slides, and was watching through slitted eyes the people running through the field, playing soccer/football. A group of small girls built a sandcastle nearby, and one of the swings sang in empty harmony, as it had only the wind to push it back and forth.
Gaara watched Neji's eyes run over the words, pausing here and there, reading quietly aloud to himself, so it looked like his mouth was moving without sound. He looked over at Gaara with an impressed look.
"This is really interesting!" he called, "Where did you get it?"
Sitting up, Gaara rolled his shoulders to stretch and work out the kinks. They had been there good half hour, after Gaara had told Temari of their plan when they met outside the gates. Neji waited patiently off to the side, knowing well when it wasn't his ground to tread upon.
"It was…" Gaara averted his gaze, "My mother's…"
Another page turned, the action a little shaky, but Neji caught and stilled himself, taking a deep breath.
"I was reading it, because…" the green-eyed boy gave another silence, but became more sure of himself. "I was trying to find out… what love is."
"Well, that's a pretty big, and confusing topic," Neji said, "But I salute you on your quest, Sir Gaara."
"Would you mind if I asked for your assistance, Squire Neji?" Gaara asked in return, mocking Neji's phoney British accent. Neji, who wasn't expecting a response as such, hopped off the monkey bars and over to Gaara.
"Of course, good knight," the long-haired boy continued, and both laughed. Not forced, not nervous, not hurtful, and not afraid.
It would be nice if people could laugh like that more often.
"Here," Neji said, setting the back down in Gaara's lap, his hands shaking just a little, "I don't want you to be late getting home."
He covered one of his wrists with his other hand, and squeezed minutely, but it was barely noticeable.
White may not be as pure as it would have you think.
o
"You know, if you keep lying here like this, someone's going to squish you."
Shikamaru lazily turned an eye to the girl. "Oh. You again."
Resisting the urge to kick him, Temari crossed her arms. "You aren't normal."
"Is anyone normal? Or is 'normal' just a concept humanity fashioned to make ourselves feel accepted and wanted by others?"
She blinked a few sconds, then gave a half-smile.
"You're probably right," she muttered and he nodded.
"You can learn a lot from clouds."
"Uh-huh…" she said, "Hey, isn't my brother in your class?"
"Short? Scary-looking?"
"That would be him."
"He's cool," Shikamaru commented, "Doesn't talk a lot."
A littl reluctantly, Temari crouched down on the dying grass beside him. He could see pen marks on her jeans; stars and scribbles form when she'd gotten bored during class.
"What's so great about clouds?" she asked, looking upwards.
He shrugged, and let her watch with him for a few minutes before she mumbled something about going home and left, though her eyes still drifted up to the sky.
End of Chapter 9