Page 43

Section 1:

2b) To my dear children:

Temari; the house and all possessions within it excluding formal papers and documents and anything I gave to others. Being that she does not sell the house and promise to keep it within the family, it is hers to do whatever she wants.

Kankuro; the plots of land I bought at the side of Konoha: 40 acres of forest. All of my clothing, including my formal business suits and jewelry, will be given to him to use as he wishes. As long as he promises to keep at least 10 acres of forest untouched, all the above shall occur.

And to Gaara, my youngest...

My company and stocks in the technological field.

This is an order: you will go to psychiatrist counseling with the psychiatrist I will subscribe to you below. Once you have finished two months of sessions with the man, you, my boy, will be--

The CEO of Suna Tech and rightful wielder of all Suna Tech Stocks.

As repayment for losses left unsaid, this is my gift to you. Treat it well...

(attached) Umino, Iruka. Main Street Psychiatrist Counseling: 123 North Main Street, Konoha

--

Breaking the Music

By FlightAngel

--

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, but I do own this story: so you steal, I kill

--

I stop a pedestrian for directions.

"Um…" I show him the half-torn crumpled map fluttering in my hand, "Can you point me to… Main Street Psychiatrist Counseling?" The man stares at me for a bit, takes out his cane, and whacks me on the head.

"Chickens!" He screams at the top of his lungs, "Go 'SQUAWK!" And he runs as fast as an old man with arthritis can run in the opposite direction, people staring at him as he hobbles uphill. I stare after him. That guy really needs to see a psychiatrist, not me.

I shake my head, still as lost as I was before. The map Temari had given me was probably a century old or something, because all the stores it said was there wasn't and places where there shouldn't have been anything at all, there was. I actually walked into a barber's shop asking for fries and a hamburger because the damn thing said that this place was supposed to be a McDonalds, not a 'Trim for a Swim' shop where swimmers chased me out with scissors in butt-hugging Speedos.

After wandering uphill aimlessly through a bustle of busy discount-shoppers and discontented boyfriends being dragged by their beloveds, I finally found a tight-fitted white building labeled in neat, golden letters: 'Main Street Psychiatrist Counseling' above the crooked doorframe.

I breathe in, steady myself, and open the door. I am immediately bombarded by the intoxicating smell of alcohol (like Sasuke's hands) and I gag into a conveniently placed trashcan next to the door. A little girl no older then five stares at me in awe, like I was a monster from the deep. In a few ways, I looked—and acted—very much like one.

My heart-red flaming beacon-of-a-hairdo is uncombed and mussed since it was extremely short anyhow and I felt no reason to comb it back except for 'special occasions' (which Temari deemed special—Kankuro and I just found them stupidly boring). I had spent twenty minutes in the bathroom this morning trying to figure out if the black stud or the silver hoop would look best in my left ear (Temari was banging at the door and all I could think of was sweet, sweet revenge), finally trashing the idea altogether and snapping on a love-skull clip-on that Neji had given to me as a consolation present last time we had an argument (last year). My black hoodie was rolled up to my elbows because the day had turned from chillingly freezing to unbearably hot in a matter of minutes, and I wearing a pair of (yes, I admit) slacks (the horror! The HORROR! It's all Temari's fault!).

Looking the way I did, I'm surprised a little kid haven't screamed and fainted in the hour I've been out.

Steadying myself against a wall, I blearily sit myself down onto an old moth-eaten chair and cough into my rolled-up sleeve. How I hate this smell! A bulging square-jawed woman sat cross-legged (fat rolling in waves down the side of her chair… ugh…) in a white uniform that told everyone in the room that she was a secretary and she was a secretary with pens. Which she can use to conveniently stab people with. She catches me staring at her and she motions me to go to the front desk.

I wobble towards the violet-smelling desk (she had an air freshener that bellowed out 'fresh' scents of flowers, which, mixed with alcohol, smelled faintly of vomit) and lean on the counter. She points towards a neatly clipped clipboard at the side of the desk. "Do you have an appointment, young man?" She said in a squeaky voice, and it took me a few seconds to realize that she wasn't making fun of me, that was her real voice. I stare at her a bit, then pick up the clipboard. A list of patient's names are neatly typed and printed in columns on a sheet of paper, and I scan through the several thousand number-codes before I find mine.

I show the secretary my name, which was next in line anyways, and she nods. Picking up the phone, she rapid-fire talks to some probably amazingly talented person with enhanced hearing on the other side. Putting the receiver down, she says, "Doctor Umino will see you in a minute, Mr. Sabaku," I twitch at the title. People used to call my Dad Mr. Sabaku, not me, "So you can sit down in a chair while he gets prepared."

As I soon as I start getting comfortable in the probably century-old thing, a voice calls out, lightly, from the Psychiatrist's door, "Sabaku no Gaara?" Sighing, I force myself up and crawl towards the door, and instantly fall into a pitch black room.

"Eh?"

"Oh, sorry… here, I'll help you." The voice is chillingly familiar. I have heard this voice before. Where have I heard this voice before? The light flickers on, and I spot the psychiatrist getting back down into his puffy armchair. I stare at him.

Holy—it's that Green-Tote Bag Guy!

Except now he's dressed in a black turtleneck very much like Neji's (they must shop in the same place), casual jeans and sandals, and had a white tote bag today, not green. Though I am obviously overwhelmed with surprise at seeing him, his eyes are solemn with expectance of my arrival.

"Hello, Gaara." He says, quietly, hands folded in his lap. I sit down slowly in a white-worn 'leather' couch that was decades overdue for a trip to the dump. He tilts his head in this very Sasuke-like manner, scar wrinkling as his face contorted into one of slight distaste. He's not staring at me however; he's staring at someone who was in the doorway, casting a shadow onto my body.

He motions with his hand for the person to go away, but said person seems very persistent and has his feet planted into the ground.

"No," A clear, yet deep, voice clipped above me, "You come here."

I flicker my eyes upward, but all I can catch is a shock of gray-silver hair and someone wearing a very large green coat right up towards me. Umino-san, my psychiatrist, looks exasperated, then made a sort of hand-signal that must of have been an inside thing, because the man standing right behind me gave a sort of agreeing grunt followed with a curt nod, then walked out of the room. I don't turn around, thus, I never caught the guy's face, but that didn't matter because Umino-san proved to be a flexible person, bouncing back to me in an instant without falter.

"So…" He crossed his legs, and I briefly wonder how he could do that without squashing certain man-parts in the process (when I was eight, Kankuro dared me to cross my legs and I did it too fast, ending up with one hand on his neck and the other holding my sore you-know-what's with Temari screaming at us—What the hell were we doing!), "Why don't we start out this session casually? What are you doing here, today?"

I notice he didn't have a notebook.

"Don't psychiatrists have notebooks?" I point towards his empty hands, "So that they can keep track of everything their client says for future reference?"

He smoothly crosses his arms and smiled, "Nope, don't have one. I find it disturbs the clients and makes them nervous."

No duh, I think, inwardly rolling my eyes, what do you expect? It'll sort of feel like a newspaper journalist interviewing you and everyone knows how they like to manipulate words. Writing stuff down is like collecting evidence, right? Who would want people to collect evidence?

I can see Umino-san's soft brown eyes firmly watching me as expressions flit through my face accompanying my thought-process, and he cocks his head the side again, this time contemplating. I don't squirm and I don't blink. I've had enough experiences in a psychiatrist or psychologist's office before.

He blinks at me slowly, then gets up, out of his seat. I notice his height, and realize he must be taller then me by at least five inches. Sitting down in that oversized armchair really seemed to swallow him up, and I wonder if he sits in a big armchair on purpose, to make him appear more innocent. He strides towards a bookshelf near my end of the room, fiddling with some things in the cabinet before he managed to pry a rather dusty wooden board game out from under the mess.

Ok, it wasn't that much of a mess. It was a mess, but if it was a mess, then it was a very organized mess. I know, it doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to me now.

Beaming, he slams the thing onto the coffee table with a newborn gusto, jolting me from my slumped back position with a start. Turning towards another small table, I can see him filling up a cup with some pitch black coffee being poured from a small white coffee maker that didn't even compare to the one's at Neji's. Of course, this was a cramped office and not Neji's mansion, so I didn't have grounds to make comparisons anyways…

He holds a cup towards me, "Want some?"

"No."

"What do you want, then?"

"Tea." My voice is flat.

"Milk and sugar?"

"Milk, no sugar."

He looks at me fondly, and I can feel my skin crawl with familiarity. I know I've seen this guy before, even before that little 'here's a note thing' last week. He hums as he fills the cup with some hot water that had miraculously appeared out of nowhere (ok, so it was there before but it seemed to appear out of nowhere) and prepares my tea.

As I wait, feeling awkward that this guy I barely knew but knew so well prepared tea for me, I lean forward to examine the board game.

It was this old thing, a strategy game, imitating a war zone with one person taking each side of the war. Being used to psychiatrists, I had expected some 'getting-to-know-you' little kid game, not some strategy thing.

I feel heat seep into my body as Umino-san places the cup of tea into my hand, which were half-curved (I've mentioned my half-curved hands before, but this was the first time someone took advantage of it). I look up, imitating annoyance even if I felt surprised, as the older man sits himself back into his armchair. He takes a sip of his coffee, and then smiles at me.

"This was a game I used to play with my parents a lot, and I loved it. It always brings good memories to me."

I'm silent, half of cooing at how sweet that is (this must bet the side infected with Naruto-ness), half of me snarling 'Why are you telling me this? I don't care'. Umino-san's examining my face again, and I quickly try to put a mask of indifference onto my features.

He purses his lips and sighs, sipping his coffee. "I thought that if I got you into a game you'd feel better. Let's start, shall we? Red or blue?"

After firmly taking charge of the little red markers, I examine and assemble my little army into a pleasing way across my territory. High ranked soldiers guarded the back and front of my flag, while middle ranked ones stood tall at the flanks. Weak footmen were prepared in the first row, scouts were littered among the ranks, and if the enemy still got through them all I had some rather nasty bombs planted in clusters of eager soldiers. Feeling quite impressed at my own capacity of planning and organizing an army, I sat back, satisfied.

Umino-san had finished organizing his army far before I had, and he was downing his coffee at a faster pace then before, not seeming to care if he scalded his throat or not. Catching me staring at him, he smiles at me crookedly, finishing his cup, and then placing it gently down next to the board. "Ok," He says, "You start."

After some contemplation, I move a small footman on my left wing forward. I see Umino-san move, in response, a member of his right wing to attack my soldier. I dig out a middle ranked lieutenant and move it behind the soldier as a trap for the enemy.

"Hey, Gaara," Umino-san says, casually moving a piece in the center front up to face my army, "What exactly are you doing here anyways?"

I shrug, moving a level four squadron leader to attack the new opponent, "I don't know. Why don't you tell me? And why do you care?"

He doesn't answer, just takes a soldier, reveals itself as a level six, and swallows my level four squadron leader. He reaches over to his left to take a biscuit. Stuffing it into his mouth, and mumbles, "I don't know exactly what's wrong with my clients all the time, and I have to find out from whatever they say during sessions. I care because then we can start somewhere. One point for me."

I can feel my eyes narrow in annoyance. I hated competition, and Umino-san was presenting a good amount of competition towards me right now. "I'm here because my father wants me to be here." I notice he's getting crumbs all over the board, and he notices me noticing him. Daintily picking up his small mess with a napkin, he watches me ponder my next move.

"Why does your father want you to come here?"

"How the hell should I know?"

My response is too quick, and I see his eyes sort of narrow for a split second in suspicion. There was no way he could spot my true reason for coming here, but I had just made him very, very curious about my current situation. I grit my teeth and move a scout forward four spaces to check out who the formidable blue marker really was.

Umino-san smirks, a little, and turns his blue marker over. "Got ya."

I almost groan in frustration, as a level nine warrior takes captive my poor little level two scout. "Damn…"

He laughs good-heartedly, placing the little red marker next to a bunch of other little red markers he had taken in the course of the game. "Oh, come now. It's just a—"

"If you say 'it's just a game' I will literally go out there and strangle you."

This just makes him laugh harder, and he moves a piece from the rear to the front. "Are you always this fun, Gaara?"

I swear I want to pick up the dictionary right next to me and flatten him right then and there. But, of course, he was a psychiatrist and I would get in horrible trouble for it, not that I didn't get in trouble before because of squashing poor little doctors. I mumble some curses under my breath as I ruffle my hair and move my piece across the board.

"No, I'm not fun." I say.

He smiles, and we continue to exchange moves for a while in silence. He was evidently and slowly taking control over the left side of the field, while I desperately tried to counterattack his moves, failed, then decided the best option was to try to cease control over the rest of the board.

As we struggled to take over the imaginary-board-land, I was so focused on the game I was scared out of my wits when Umino-san first broke the silence.

"What's your sexuality?"

I stare at him a little, mouth open Naruto-style, before realizing my rather rude position and shut my jaw with a firm snapping noise. "Sexuality as in what gender I prefer or Sexuality as in how many times I have sex in a month?"

He's not looking at me as he picks up a piece and captures my level six guardian. "Both."

"I'm a gay virgin." I say flatly. "Are you homophobic?"

"Nope," He says a cheerfully, waiting for me as I stare at the board hard, looking for my next move, "I'm bisexual. The person that I was talking to at the beginning of the session—that was my boyfriend." I figured. Having long hair, crossing his legs, smiling and acting all nice—it was all too good to be true if he was straight to the boot as well.

I move my piece forward again, trying to capture that damn flag probably located at the left rear of his army. Umino-san's grin just got wider. "And… now!"

He suddenly moves a piece I hadn't realized was there before, a piece that immediately and suddenly swept and took hold of my flag. I can feel my brow twitch in sudden irritation as he triumphantly plucks the little red piece from its position and says, in a clear voice, "I win!"

"Augh…" I stuff my head into my hands, "No fair… you probably had years and years of practice on the game anyways…" He frowns, putting down his piece and staring at me.

"Hey, don't treat me like I'm that old. I'm only around… twenty-nine? Thirty? I can't remember…" He puts his fingers to his lips thoughtfully as I deadpan. A psychiatrist that can't even remember his age? He shrugs, as if it was unimportant. Gathering the little red and blue markers, he carefully sweeps them into the little box holding the board and instructions. I watch as he folds them all carefully away and tucks the board game neatly back into the cabinet.

"You can leave now, you know," He says, gesturing at the clock sitting to my left, "Your session's over… not that I want you to leave, but I wouldn't want you sitting in that corner all by yourself creeping the other clients, right?" I consider, then decide that it made sense. I'm a little surprised that time flew by so fast, but then, I know I have a tendency to lose track of the real world in times of stress or fun. I sigh, wave good-bye to Umino-san (who smiles and waves back) and walk out the door.

The session wasn't all that bad, and Umino-san refrained from asking common questions psychiatrists asked me usually, which was very, very good. I stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets as the over intoxicating smell of alcohol and flowers overwhelm me again and I gag. Stuffing my mouth and nose with a hand, I run out the door, catching a glimpse of a man slumped next to Umino-san's door before finding my way outside.

There would've been nothing unusual about me spotting Umino-san's boyfriend waiting for him—I mean, they had sort of agreed to meet each other after my appointment anyways when he first came through the door. So it shouldn't have been unusual or surprising.

At least, it wouldn't be if his boyfriend wasn't actually Naruto's one and only, good-fashioned, lazy-assed music teacher, Hatake Kakashi.

--

Neji's mansion is a fifteen minute drive on my motorbike from mine and looks like something sprung out of a fashion magazine or such, with its perfect elegant white gates, the fountain in the front courtyard and its large fifteen feet-tall doors. Hitting the brake with a firm foot, I pop my helmet off, tuck it under my arm, and squint in the harsh light at the security system propped up next to the main Hyuuga gate.

Being the stockholders of one of the finest jewelry-crafting industries in the country, world, maybe, the Hyuugas were well aware of the dangers behind being incredibly wealthy. Thus, they used some of that money to buy one of the best security systems in the world and hire security officers. Thankfully the security officers were inside, not out, or they'd kick my butt to Great Britain for looking punk.

Hyuugas have a thing with looking punk.

I hesitantly press the speaker button on the little security box and I jump as sudden static blasts out of the radio-speaker-thing. I stare as the thing sputters a little, then a familiar high-pitches voice squeaks out, "Who is it?"

I clear my throat, embarrassed that I was frightened, "Er… Gaara…"

The squeaky voice says, "Gaara? Oh, I'll go get Neji-niisan. NEJI-NIISAN!" I hear footfalls as the owner of the voice goes looking for my AWOL friend, "NEJI-NIISAN! IT'S GAARA!"

I hear the faint voice of Neji go, "What?"

The squeaky high-voiced girl screams, "IT'S GAAAAAARA!"

"What?"

The poor girl almost goes hoarse trying to communicate my voice over what must have only been thirty feet at most, "GAAAAAAAAAAARA!"

"Oh."

I hear the faint padding of socks on wood as Neji comes from wherever he's from and picks up the phone. "Hello? Gaara?"

"Er, Neji…"

There is an awkward silence as I wait for him to speak and he waits for me to finish.

Finally, he coughs. "Do you want me to let you in?"

"That'd be helpful," I say a little snidely, and the gates suddenly swing open. Ok, 'swing open' is not a proper description. More like 'dramatically opened their wondrous white steel bars in a graceful movement with angels singing in the background'. No, seriously.

Stepping inside, I carefully avoid the lawn and the fountain altogether, looping to the side and sort of tip-toeing towards the front door. Opening it, I duck inside and meet up with Neji in the room to the right of the entrance. He looks pretty ok, taking in the fact that he's been missing in school for two days straight which he never does (I've mentioned that he's the teachers pet before, right?).

His hair is pulled back in the traditional Japanese fashion, clipped down behind his ears with invisible bobby pins, and his forehead was bare. Crude lines joined together in a single 'X' in the middle of his forehead, speaking bitterly of pain and why Neji never liked showing the top of his face.

Unlike Sasuke, who wore a dorky navy headband because he just insisted on being dorky.

Clad in the uniform Hyuuga robe, he motions me upstairs. I look back just enough to catch a look at the girl who had answered me, a quiet student with hair tied into two pigtails resting on her collarbone and a shy personality. She was familiar, and it occurred to me later that she was in my trigonometry class with Naruto and me. She didn't talk much, however, just stared at Naruto and twiddled her fingers.

Neji pulls open the paper-made screen door that led to his room, allows me in, then snaps it shut. It makes me nauseous, how Japanese the Hyuugas were while my family was a trashy punk-western wannabe group of drug addicts compared to them. So maybe their descriptions of us were accurate, but it didn't really make me feel better.

The older boy motions me to some traditional Japanese mats, where I hesitantly curled my feet under my self trying to resist the urge to just flop down on the thing and ruin the image of Neji's perfect bedroom with my black-and-red form.

I'm still wearing slacks, for the record.

"What did you come here for, Gaara?" Neji says, and I can almost imagine him pouring a cup of green tea while using that tone with me. He only uses the tone when he was being dead serious. It had no room for joking, or sarcasm. Just plain, hard facts.

"I wanted to find out some information," I answer, flatly, "and you're probably the most knowledgeable out of all of us." I take my hand out of my hoodie pocket and show him a fist, clenched together.

Holding up one finger, I say, "One. Why haven't you been showing up to Drama lately?" He opens his mouth but I hold up a hand. He closes his mouth and looks firmly at me with disapproval.

I ignore his glance and hold up two fingers, "Two. What do you know about Naruto and Sasuke's relationship?" He doesn't do anything, just stares.

I hold up three fingers. "Three. Can we exchange pasts?"

He looks at me carefully, eyes narrowed, at the last comment. Clearing his throat, he mimics me by holding up a fist, then lifting a finger after each answer.

"I got paired up with my ex-boyfriend for the part in the next play. I don't know what's going on with Naruto and Sasuke except that they're in lust with each other. I'm not sure, but I think Naruto's in love but Sasuke's just in it for the pleasure. You go first."

I stare at him. He stares at me. I clear my throat, and look around for a place to place my helmet. "Okay… but you already know most of what my past is like…"

--

"Gaara, come here." Baki's voice was loud and harsh to my ears, like every other damn thing that crossed my path on a stressed out day. Shukaku was perched on my shoulder, razor-sharp fangs sticking toothily above his lower lip. Beast-like eyes narrowing, he hissed poisonous words into my ear as my guardian looked down on me.

Stab him, kill him, drink that delicious blood; yes, that delicious blood, so red and vivid like cherry syrup… yes… open his chest out and rip out his heart, eat that heart, eat that heart and regain the one you lost, yes, the one you lost, lick that delicious blood away, hear his wonderful screams as he writhes beneath you… such beautiful screams, like music, like demons cackling, screams stained with crimson spots are the best, the best, yes, the best, kill him Gaara, kill him—

Slowly I stand from where I had been leaning on before, facing the man with stone-cold emotionless eyes surrounding by a thick layer of black. My hair was a vivid red, the same color as the tattoo sketched across the left of my forehead, and there was blood on my hands.

The blood of that cute little next-door neighbor who liked to ride her bike through the neighborhood until one fateful morning. When she met me.

Shukaku is cackling again, this time dancing gleefully on my shoulder, and I look at him irritably.

She was precious, yes precious, so young; little fingers so delicate as you bit them off one by one… her shrieks were like the bird calls you love when you strangle them, her blood tasted of youth and made you feel so good, feel so good, like eating some candy… that bicycle was the best, the best, you took it with your hands and you broke it, yes, broke it, used the steel to hit the girl on the head, skull cracking like a scream cut short too soon, so delicious, so wonderful, yes… strangling her, fingers digging into creamy skin, like cake, like cake with cherry-red filling as blood cascaded down, wonderful blood, wonderful scream, that smell I so love…

"Baki-sensei?" I said, tonelessly. His face is hardened, and he gripped me roughly by the shoulder. At the corner of my I could see Temari and Kankuro hiding behind the door. I sneered at them, and Shukaku sneered with me.

Idiot constraints, binding me, depraving me of sweet, sweet, blood, stupid little girl, wishful thinking, eating their hair, ripping it out of their heads as they struggle and scream… oh just think, that blood! Wonderful blood, each strand dipped in the red, so wonderful, like straws, suck the blood up with the hair like straws; snap their necks take that infernal boy's necklaces and strangle him, yes, strangle him until he chokes and dies, then tighten it, head pops up, bone cracks, headless body, headless body, a huge hole where you can suck a lot of blood, suck a lot of blood with the blood-tipped hairs, use a switch knife, mince them, roast them, delicious flesh burning on the stake as their screams pierce the night, yes!

"Your father," He said, flatly, "He wants to see you."

I nodded without emotion, coldly drilling holes into his stitched vest with the standard glare-of-insanity. "I know he wants to see us. That idiot bloodless freak always wants to see us, yes, Shukaku? Always wants to see us. So he can see us, bring him here, so I can suck his blood." I held up my hands and made a circular motion with my index finger, then squeezed them together and put my tongue in-between my teeth, "Like a tick." I cracked a maniacal smile that spoke more of eager bloodlust then joy.

Baki stared at me like he so often did, and his hand clenches tighter around my shoulder.

"Gaara," He said, slowly like he was talking to a child of five, and not twelve, "Would you like to see your mother?"

I flinched a little, smile evaporating like piss in the sunlight, and Shukaku hissed beside me. He tried to intervene with another rant of delicious metaphors, but I stopped him and looked Baki in the eye.

"Yes, Baki," I said in a low, low monotone, smiling insanely, "I would like that very, very much."

--

At the café downtown I felt tired and very dead.

I had thought Naruto had invited us over to the place because he wanted to solve out the whole me seeing Naruto and Sasuke making out conflict along with Neji's disappearance (which I knew). However, the blonde didn't do anything but ramble on about what happened during the week and how this was so funny and blah, totally ignoring what had happened between the four of us.

I know it was just Naruto's way of making us feel better, but it still annoyed the hell out of me.

Naruto, in consolation for everyone at the table, had bought the special of the week (which has been the special of the week every week since we first came, which was at the beginning of high school) which was humongous. There were mounds of creamy ice cream, ranging from vanilla to 'chunky munky' (copyrighted to Ben and Jerry's), with whip cream piled float-style at the top of the mountain. Caramel and chocolate drizzled all over the top of the sundae and the whole thing was floating on a sea of root beer. The dish itself completed the root beer float as it was, literally, in the shape of a U.S. Navy ship.

The waitress, who went to our school but I just forgot her name (do you really expect me to know?), sighs in relief as she places the thing at our table. Wiping her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, she grins at us. "This is usually ordered for the couples, since its big enough for two and easily more. First time I saw a bunch of boys getting at it though." She smirks and looks at us suspiciously in succession, "My, a bunch of good-looking ones, here, eh? Are you all up to something, or…?" She left the question hanging, took up her board, and stuck her tongue out at us. "Never mind. Happy dining! And Neji, you still have to give me back my Jolin CD you borrowed from me a month ago."

Before the boy could reply, she waltzes off, humming. Neji bites his lip in frustration, and slumps down, a hand below his chin. "Stupid Tenten. She drives me up the wall." Naruto looks up from eating the ice cream mound (he had started the minute she had put it down).

"What? But aren't you two dating?"

Neji's eyes narrow in a dangerously aggressive way that spoke of using his martial art skills and poking the younger boy in very compromising positions. He doesn't answer, just takes out a pack of gum, and shows it to me.

"Gum?"

Sasuke grunts a little at Neji's obvious ignorance of Naruto, just sits back and crosses his arms in a sort of feminine-punk manner. Naruto's eating ice cream and stealing glances at the ebony-haired boy at the same time, ending up with him shoving a spoonful of the stuff into his cheek instead of his mouth.

He blinks at the sudden wetness on his cheek, then reaches up and touches the ice cream dribbling slowly earthwards. "Eh…?" I see my chance and lean forward.

"Here," I gently scoop the ice cream carefully from his cheek, making sure it had all come off, then licked it off my thumb, "That's better."

Naruto, who was smart and yet so dense and oblivious sometimes, smiles. "Hey, thanks Gaara!" Sasuke, who had flinched when I leaned forward, is looking at me with a glare on his face.

I smile at him crookedly.

Score one for the red-headed murderer.

--

Author's notes: I am realizing how boring my story is. The plot is slow and subtle, and to people who like action and adventure, nonexistent. Heh, whatever... MORE REVIEWERS! Yay/Goes to store and buys marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers/ S'mores! ...wait... Wah! No campfire/goes off to cry in a little corner/ Oh well... help yourself to anything... /takes a marshmallow and stuffs face/ Mm...