Breaking the Music Chapter 19: Name: Hot Chocolate, a naruto fanfic

Name: Spring Forth Christian Treatment Center

Closing: December 23rd, 2004

Reason: Lawsuit; misconduct; abuse; violation of codes

Notes: Owner of Treatment Center never found. Name is disclosed.

Attention please: all patients who were getting care in this center has now been moved to Konoha City Treatment Center. Thank you.

note received on: March 15th, 2007

reciever: Uzamaki Naruto, ex-patient. Suffering from MPD. Currently put alter-personality in remission, but resurfacing may happen again.

reaction: ...damn geezer.

Breaking the Music

By FlightAngel

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

Because both Kankuro and I feared for our lives if we even dared take a step into our flat due to Temari's harpy-like temper, we needed a place to go. Thankfully, Itachi was more the happy to let us stay at his place for the night. I stayed at yours, now you stayed at mine." He chirps at us as we arrive at his front doorstep, "Plus, we have a bunch of empty room, you know. This house was built for around thirty people—now, it's only occupied by two." Kisame trails wordlessly behind as Itachi abruptly stops at the doormat and carefully unlocks the door.

The large gate-like wooden structure moans precariously as it swings open, and Itachi sticks his head out from behind the curve of the entrance-way, cautious.

"…hello?"

"Aniki! You're back from your…" One dark-haired, prissy Uchiha teenager stops his crossing from the hallway to the front door, where he suddenly adopts a rather menacing look in his eye. "Aniki… what the hell?"

"Otouto," Itachi says, using his CEO voice, "Kankuro and Gaara don't have a place to stay, so I'm allowing them to stay here—hn!" He holds up a finger when Sasuke opens his mouth, probably equipped with some quick-thought retort. "I have ultimate say in this household and I am allowing them to stay." He turns towards us, all cool and windswept. Kankuro and I have now decided to pull on rather emotionless faces. Kisame, who is still behind us all, decides to close the door.

Good thing, too. It was getting pretty chilly.

"Although we do have lots of space in this household, I warn you, it gets kind of creepy after a while. I suggest you sleep with one of us… well, not sexually, but in the same room. Gaara, it'd be best if you sleep in Sasuke's room."

"—Aniki!" Sasuke, alarmed, has all the rights to look exasperated as he faces his brother, "Why can't he—?" He sighs, cutting off his sentence and looking worn. "Okay, okay, whatever. C'mon Gaara, let's go."

One tug and I find myself being dragged by his arm down a midnight corridor, up a flight of stairs, left turn and then a right. The blur of colors still crept at the edge of my mind; I rub my eyes a little with my free hand before being pulled inside Sasuke's humongous, gigantic, rich-kid room.

I mean… seriously. My whole flat can probably fit in this room, and more. The walls, painted ebony-black to midnight blue, speckles whites and silvers, glittering from the wall closest to me and across the roofed dome of the ceiling all the way to the end of the gigantic room, though there looked to be no end at all. Strangely enough, even after Sasuke flicked on the light switch, bathing the whole scene with an eye-straining fluorescent, I find myself feeling like I am in space.

Dark Sasuke-like space, anyway.

"Here's an extra futon… Naruto always sleeps on this whenever he comes over." A dark black futon-like thing is thrown in my general direction. I hastily step out of the way and let it land with a "whoomph" on the plush carpet, looking down at it before turning my gaze back to Sasuke, who was mumbling to himself and typing something into his laptop.

Seeing nothing better to do, I lean over and start tugging the futon into a position so it was parallel to the large queen-sized bed it's situated next to. After wasting a few precious minutes doing this, I quietly sit on it and cross my legs, eyes closed. I remember… the repeating words, over and over again: I killed him, I killed him, oh, lord, I killed him, no, no, no, but he tried to kill me, BUT I KILLED HIM. I shut the voice out of my head firmly, trembling as I turn to the other voices, quiet in my mind.

I killed him.

No.

I killed him.

No, remember what Kankuro said—he's the regent of Suna Tech, the regent

But I killed him.

He's not dead!

Yes, but I tried to kill him—I tried to kill him and I almost did—all that blood…

HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!

B-but just because he tried to kill me… didn't mean I had the right to try to kill him…

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you worthless piece of shit! Get up and get on with your life!

I already did.

It doesn't count! The only reason you "got on" with your life was because you FORGOT everything! Now that you know—you know every bad thing that has happened to you… you can really get over it. Truly get over it.

…

You're Sensible Gaara, right?

That's me.

Wow… I didn't even know I had you in my head…

Don't worry, dear, most people don't consciously recognize their sensible sides. It happens to everyone.

But I loved him… and I thought… he loved me.

I'm sure he does.

BUT HE—

No feeling sorry for yourself, remember? I can't believe you're so dumb! Stop moping around and get with it!

He said he hated me! He said it!

…

Do any of you have a reply?

No.

Sorry.

Well, Gaara, some people say things that they don't mean. Like the time Kankuro asked you if you wanted an ice cream cone and you said "No" even though you really did want one…

…how did you remember that?

I'm you, remember?

"Gaara."

What's that? Whose voice is that?

"Gaara."

Is that mine? Or another's? Is it in my head?

"Oy, Gaara!"

My eyes snap open, and I immediately recognize Sasuke's annoyed tick three inches from my face. I slowly let my eyes trail downward, to where he was holding a cup of… brown stuff under my nose.

"What were you doing? Meditating? Never pinned you as a meditating kind of guy… that was always something I categorized Neji as, you know…" He pushes the cup at me again, brown liquid sloshing the edges, "Here, take it."

I eye it suspiciously.

Sasuke scowls.

"Look, it's nothing poisonous, alright? It's not Pepsi either, so you can relax. It's just something my brother makes every once in a while—he only makes it 'cause Kisame likes it… despite his looks, he's actually a pretty decent cook. Here, take it." I finally accept the mug, the warmth of it heating up my bitterly cold hands. Sasuke reveals his own cup and we sit there on my—no, Naruto's—futon, sipping… something that tasted like hot chocolate.

"It is hot chocolate," the Uchiha says dryly, and I shoot him one of my "Okay, you can read my mind—that's weird" looks. He sort of balances his own Sasuke-and-Itachi decorated mug between his knees as he turns around and lightly tugs some of the sheets off the bed. I am amused at the picture—a four-year old Sasuke, pouting and dressed in a little red elf suit with Itachi, who looked vaguely in his teens, dressed in a Santa suit. There was a hand at the corner of the picture, gesturing the two brothers to shift closer. Unusually, Sasuke looked reluctant to edge closer to Itachi and vise versa. Compared to now, it was almost looking at a completely different family.

"I know," Sasuke says, doing one of his "I'm cool and can read your mind better then Neji, ha, ha, ha" things again, "This picture's really old… and for what's in your cup, it's called 'Chocomint Toddy'. Itachi found it on the internet one day and decided that hot chocolate and summer heats go well together. Anyways, why are you here? I thought you had your own condo to live in."

"We ran away," I say nonchalantly, shrugging, "and we can't go back without my sister going all harpy on us." I brought the chocolate to my lips and allowed myself a sip—very minty, with a sort of mocha taste in the background. I think I'd be able to drink this one cup but too many, too soon would probably make me sick to the stomach.

"Hn." is Sasuke's only reply, and I look at him curiously. Seeing the empty mug in the carpet next to him, I realize that he's most likely waiting for me to finish drinking my Toddy-choco thing. Though the mint stung, I gulped down the rest of the drink (it's a rather small mug, anyway) before sitting it neatly next to his. Unfortunately, there are no wonderful pictures of toddler!Sasuke and kid!Itachi. Instead, I got stuck with the lopsided reindeer.

I hate lopsided reindeers.

"Hm… it's about eight right now… plenty of time." Sasuke murmurs to himself before flopping down comfortably onto the futon. He gestures for me to do the same and I, after a moment of consideration, sigh and mimic him. "Lights off." He calls aloud and suddenly the lights blink out.

Okay, weird tech.

So here we are… laying side-by-side on a tiny futon, in the dark, me not even caring that I was at such close proximity with the brunette. Sure, we've had some squabbles over the past two weeks, but we've been friends long enough to not let a few fights get in the way… even if the fights were mostly directed towards a common love interest… nope… doesn't affect us at all… I think…

Anyway… normally, this would be a steaming moment for some person other then me, but to me everything is just… cool. The futon is slightly chilled, the blankets Sasuke had draped over use are cold and Sasuke himself is… icy. Definitely not a potential love interest, not like he ever was.

But still—I can't resist.

I poke him.

I can feel him twitch.

I poke him again.

He turns to face me, only several inches away from my own face, "What are you, Naruto? Stop it."

"Why are you so cold?"

Sasuke gives me a glare of utter disbelief, turns his back, and curls up into a ball. "I like sleeping with the air conditioning on."

In March? is all I can think of, but I stay silent.

We are quiet for a moment, both (or maybe it's just me) attempting to find enough sleep to sufficiently suffice tomorrow's horror-of-school, though secretly I didn't feel like going to school tomorrow. Yes, Neji will die of a heart-attack when he finds that his best friend intends to ditch seven hours of wonderful, mind-boggling learning fun and maybe take the family Chevy and drive up to Suna… and… visit someone… and… yeah. That's all I've got now. I still have plenty of time to think of ideas, however, and was about to do so when Sasuke had to just kindly interrupt me with that cold, sarcastic voice of his.

I pride myself to say that my own cold, sarcastic voice can beat his to the ground.

"Gaara?"

A growl. Okay, maybe it was more of a mental growl, and yet I still couldn't help but slowly and dramatically turn towards him, my scariest you-are-going-to-die-a-horrid-death expression pulled onto my face.

"What?"

Sasuke is immune to evil, malice-laced words, however. This is good. He sort of twists so that he is no longer laying on his back but on his side, facing me. Black hair spills silkily onto his pale, moonlit cheekbones, and I blink at him. He looks so much like a vampire right now. I'm tempted to just reach out and pull open his mouth, just to see if he has fangs.

Okay, now that's just weird, even for me. I snub that thought out of my mind and instead try to pay attention to what Sasuke just had to interrupt me for.

"Aniki…" His body language is tense—even I can see the rigidness of his posture underneath the blanket, "You should be careful around him. He's not all that he seems…"

"I know that."

"No, you don't. Sure, you got past the drama king charade, but there's more to him then that. He's smooth-talking and a very good actor, of course, but he can be real brutal when he doesn't get what he wants. Even Kisame cowers beneath him. He knows that he can't go up against Aniki for crap." He narrows his eyes a little, looking distant, "He's complicated, too. I haven't exactly gotten a hold of what he's been up to recently—at least, not his real motives. His outward goals are very obvious, as he makes no effort to 'hide' them because they aren't real."

I stare at him with these large cyan eyes of mine, which usually glow green but today holds a small tinge of blue in their midst, furrowing my brow. "…so?"

Sasuke looks slightly ticked, as if he was shooting me all these implications and I wasn't piecing them all together. Well, that is what is happening. And I still haven't pieced the clues together.

I was never really good at those mystery puzzles anyways (I am, of course, blatantly referring to another one of Temari's "family time" events where she sat us down and made us—us being Kankuro, Baki and me—play some mystery game called "Clue", which was stupid because I couldn't win. After Baki figured out the puzzle for the sixth time in a row and a look of utter and pure murder had slowly crept onto my face, Temari finally had the smarts to call it quits and quickly usher the other two out before I had a chance to go all "Oh my gosh, I AM A MURDERER!" on them.)

"Aniki," Sasuke continues to grudgingly explain, "likes to use people for his own ulterior motives. Oh, sure, he always has another 'motive' to back up the goodness of his actions, but the truth behind what he does usually centers around his selfishness or something like that."

I think. Hard. Okay, so maybe Itachi does have ulterior motives to everything he does, but I think he really does care about some people. I mean—who wouldn't? Even I (who has held the rank of "Creepy-boy-of-the-year" five years in a row) care about some people, even if I don't even know them that well. I also remember during the therapy session he mentioned that he cared about Kisame and Sasuke when asked.

Caring about Sasuke… leads to Naruto… which leads to me… which leads to Sasuke's comment about "using" people… which means…

My eyes widen as I speak: "Itachi's using me to help you break up with Naruto so you don't suffer horrible consequences due to him and you not really working out that way so you are then forced to look for someone more your type who may or may not be someone we all know and Itachi is doing this because he cares about you and not because he wants to bug you and ruin your life?"

Sasuke blinks. He blinks again.

"…what?"

I prop myself up, "Doesn't it make sense? I mean—you say that Itachi's selfish, but doesn't he do things because he cares? But he makes it look like he's just being selfish when he's actually being caring? 'Cause he's afraid to be caring because you think he's selfish, and he wants to keep his self-image? Maybe that's true… or maybe he's just being caring!"

"Gaara," Sasuke says to me slowly. "Have you been picking up habits again? Maybe from Naruto this time?"

I sigh, defeated (and deflated). I had just had the most wonderful revelation, and Sasuke wouldn't hear any of it. He didn't appreciate my wonderful revelation-ness. I don't get them that often, you know.

"…whatever."

I lay down again.

There is a quiet, rather awkward silence for a while as I try to force myself to go to sleep. But to no avail—it seems that my little expedition off to Umino-san's place and then Sasuke's hadn't left me enough time to grab my medicine along the way.

The medicine had been prescribed to me right after I had been released from the treatment center and had only been opened twice—once when Baki left and another right after I found Sasuke and Naruto doing who-knows-what in Professor Orochimaru's hallway. Because of its lack of use, it often finds itself covered in dust, sitting at the way back of the medicine cabinet where it becomes literally forgotten until something like this comes up and I throw all of Temari's precious supplements all over the place just to find that damn jar.

I feel nauseated and am probably suffering from some case of mild insomnia as the mutterings of my own voices start to rift through my head again—Loving Gaara who coos about Naruto and hugs Sasuke behind my back; Angry Gaara who just can't resist that sledgehammer and attempts to knock my brains out; Sensitive Gaara who keeps poking holes in my previous conversations, trying to find a weak spot anywhere, somewhere to accuse another of hating me; Sensible Gaara still trying to loudly convince me about Yashamaru—on and on and on and on… I close my eyes and furrow my brow, wishing desperately for some music.

Or pills.

Or maybe both. Yeah, that'd be nice.

"Gaara?"

Agh, damn that Sasuke to hell. Seriously. I roll over so I am facing him again, though I shouldn't have bothered as he was staring at the ceiling anyway, hands loosely folded behind his head, a contemplating look decorating his face. Whatever. I shut my eyes tight, not planning on opening them up again except there are dire circumstances. Which will never happen.

Just 'cause I'm awesome like that.

"Hn…?"

"Naruto…"

Alert, awake, and focused. My eyes snap open and I stare, transfixed, at Sasuke's profile. Alright, so I did open my eyes in the end… but Naruto is always considered a dire circumstance. So, ha. I technically didn't break my own rule.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

…I'm such a dork.

"Hn?"

"I was talking to him yesterday…" Black eyes are still focused intently on the ceiling and Sasuke starts to play with a piece of his hair, twirling it around a finger, unwinding it slowly and then resuming his twining, "Talking… about you."

I am silent.

Okay, so what do I have to say to that? 'Oh, so what did you talk about?' or 'Did he say he hated me?' or, maybe, 'Did he say he didn't like you that way anymore and wanted to go out with me now?'

In my dreams.

"We were first talking about the end of junior year and the band… you know, with Neji leaving and all. We're still begging him to stay here but the only one that can sway him is either you or Lee, and, sorry to say this, both of you don't really seem to have the guts to go up and try to change his mind, do you?" I bristle at that comment, but don't take the bait. Sasuke just has that annoying habit of throwing in those one or two itty-bitty words that just ticks someone off big time, and by now I'm rather used to freezing up and letting it go. Really—if I'd attacked Sasuke every time he snobbily insults me, we'd both be long ago rotting in some tomb off in a cemetery somewhere.

"Anyway… we were talking about the future and Naruto was all upset because he wants to get a music major when he grows up, but we all know about his horrible grades, yes? He takes band with me and the teacher is always constantly scolding him for forgetting his instrument and not practicing and all this other crap when they don't even know him. They just think he's slacking off when, in reality, he's working so hard he's almost passing out every night." I don't miss the slight clenching of Sasuke's hand, nor the hardening of his eyes.

Naruto…I am in love with him. But then, just because I am doesn't mean I know every piece of his personal life, unless he had told me himself. I like to respect his space as, in truth, he respects mine. He's never asked me about my past and doesn't butt into my fights with Kankuro and Temari. Even nowadays, with me racing around trying to wrap my head around the confusing details my brain just had to conveniently misplace somewhere for five or more years, he's pretty understanding and waits for me finish spazzing.

I, in turn, have never been too nosy about what he'd been doing at the treatment center, or about where his parents are and why he lives with his aunt and uncle, or even why he's never free on most weekday nights and sometimes have rings around his eyes when it is a Saturday, of all days. In retrospect, I can see how Naruto could probably confide more in Sasuke then me. I mean, the Uchiha does have the looming advantage of being Naruto's oldest childhood friend.

Damn, makes me so angry… I feel my brow furrow as, suddenly, a wave of rage washes over me. Mind and feelings fight… or, to be more accurate, brain and chemicals fight. I really have got to stop clenching the blankets. Maybe I can try self-hypnosis (according to Kankuro, it's actually supposed to work): Gaara, you are not angry. You are just upset that you cannot grab a hold of your life at the moment. Stop blaming it on other people or other situations. It is nobody's fault. Stop clenching those blankets… stop clenching… calm breathing… breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out…

Okay, I'm better now (who knew a combination of Kankuro's self-hypnosis and Temari's stress-relief exercises are actually rather effective? They'd both be so proud of me, not that I'd care. Really.)

Sasuke pretends he doesn't notice, but I know that he knows that I know that he isn't really as dumb as to pretend to not notice that the blankets had changed directions several times after his comment. I'm pretty sure he even counts my breathing before continuing.

"Even though he's staying with his aunt and uncle, he's always so independent. He's been working three part-time jobs this year plus working with our gang just to make enough money to try and sustain himself after he graduates. He's so stubborn—he won't accept anyone's help—mine, Neji's, even his own aunt and uncle's…" He blinks, agonizingly slow. I know because he doesn't continue talking until he's finished. "He's got some odd thousand dollars stored up somewhere—but even then, it's not enough to get to college or anything. So even if he does get accepted somewhere, he wouldn't have the money to afford the tuition by himself and he won't take his aunt and uncle's money."

A pause.

"That's the real reason why he's been so crazy about this 'Battle of the Bands' thing these days. He needs the win to hopefully get it on his college application forms and maybe get a scholarship."

I am silent, brooding. Personally, right now, I don't have the money either. I keep forgetting the whole "will" thing my father left me. I mean, it hasn't even occurred to me—not really, at least—that I will be inheriting a high-tech company in… oh, not-God, how many days? Three? A week? Sometime soon, I know.

If I inherit that damn company, it meant that I'd probably be forced to attend some high-class university studying under an engineering degree (though both math and science are some of my worst skills) and then get out of college and end up working as a tech/engineer for the rest of life.

Ahem. Reality-check?

So not going to happen(if I have any say in this. Which I have).

I do muddle about the school waters and manage to rummage up some half-decent grades that keep Temari off my back and me away from the counseling office, though probably not enough to get a scholarship, which I'd need if I refused to take over the company.

Which meant, in the end, that I needed to win the Battle of Bands just as badly as Naruto needed to win as well. Dammit.

"And?" I look at the Uchiha from the side of my eye, "College shouldn't be the only thing Naruto thinks about, is it? Why are you telling me this?"

Sasuke has the nerve to look slightly irritated. "I'm getting to it, alright?"

If he is, he's taking his sweet time. Sure, I'm an insomniac if I don't take my medicine (which I do, mechanically, every morning. I just never feel the urge to mention it as I have been doing so every day after my release from the Treatment center and has slowly turned from becoming a habit to becoming a part of a crazy boy named Sabaku no Gaara who seriously needs a makeover) but this is absolutely insane. Does anyone know that feeling where it takes someone so long to get to the point that you just completely forget what they were saying in the first place? I know I do that sometimes (to Temari's annoyance) so I'm a pretty patient guy, and all that extra information about Naruto is useful, but I'm getting rather suspicious.

Why is Sasuke telling me all this? What's his ulterior motive? (And yes, I blatantly aware of how similar Sasuke is to Itachi—if Itachi has an ulterior motive to everything, so does Sasuke).

"Naruto and I've known each other since kindergarten. We literally bonded over stomping ants in the playground." He sighs, "From a very young age, I knew that Naruto wasn't quite right. I mean, all the other kids avoided him like the plague and even Naruto himself would sometimes curl up in a small ball, crying, refusing to respond to anything." He turns towards me, "This was before his aunt and uncle took him in or anything. He was still at the orphanage at the time."

Orphanage? I had thought his Aunt and Uncle had adopted him when he was a baby. I really should be immune to all surprises now. I feel slightly guilty inside—I mean, I'm nosing into Naruto's personal life (even if I'm not exactly willing to) without him telling me—until I realize that Neji had probably told the same thing about me to Naruto.

I narrow my eyes. Is it normal to have your best friends talk behind your back?

Whatever.

"It didn't really come out until he was about eight or nine, though. I was going to go pick him up from school at our normal place, under the old gnarled tree behind the fence, when I realized that he wasn't there… plus, there was screaming. A lot of screaming." He shudders, as if reminiscing a horrible nightmare, "I headed inside… and came upon Naruto in the hallway with our teacher, Utae-san." He lifts his pale hands out from beneath the blanket, up the air so we can both see them, glowing white in the dark. "His hands were around her neck… like this."

He suddenly clenches his fingers together, and I watch, fascinated, as that skeletal image morphs into Naruto's hands around a pale and fleshy throat, strangling the life out of a woman.

"What happened?"

Sasuke pauses for dramatic effect (or for the sake of being tantalizingly irritating, which isn't that far-fetched of an idea).

"She died."

Silence. I stare upwards at the ceiling, and, though it'd be odd for anyone other then me to feel this way, I feel relieved. Utterly relieved.

Who knows?

Possibly, half my stress comes from the fact that I know that I am a murderer deep down inside me, no matter what reason I can muster up for my actions. Knowing that the person I am in love with has gone through the same thing is… well, relieving. At least we won't be completely and utterly disgusted over each other if we ever do admit to our wonderfully bloody pasts.

I stare at Sasuke harder.

Sasuke stares… or possibly glares… back.

"At the treatment center… do you remember anything unusual about Naruto? Anything out of the ordinary that may be the reason why he was there at the first place?"

I hate it when Sasuke asks questions that make me think hard. It makes me feel so… foolish. Yes, I know I am being weird. I am always weird.

"Yes, yes I do."

The insane doctor. Naruto, bursting in. The bloodshed and horror—all the things my mind had tossed aside somewhere all those years ago… Apparently, seeing the love of my life nearly rip a guy open, act completely out of character and me almost getting raped by said guy isn't an important thing to remember. Curse you, horribly deformed brain of mine (Temari says the reason I act funny is because of my schizophrenia… which means: curse you, my awful, no-good, rotten father for giving me this horrible brain-disease!)

Sasuke just sighs. "I don't want to discuss that part of Naruto at the moment… but you know what happened, yes? You know about Naruto's identity disorder?"

I blink. Slowly.

"…identity disorder?"

Sasuke looks frustrated, looks as if about to explain, and then happens to look up, shocked. It takes me a while to find what he is staring at, and the moment I do, he curses.

"Dammit! It's eight thirty already? Ugh, I took so long? Gaara! Up! Up!" He springs forward, blanket spilling everywhere as he quickly gets to his feet, flashing me quick glances as he dusts himself off.

"Up?"

"Up!"

He does something odd with his fingers and the lights glow on, a different, warmer hue this time, stinging my eyes. I immediately shut them.

Kicking his chair back with a barely clothed leg (he is clad in a tight white tank top and some shorts), he sits himself down before typing at a scary, inhuman-like speed on his laptop. My eyes adjust the brightening light and I slowly open them to glare pointedly at Sasuke.

"Sasuke, what the hell—"

"Shh! Don't interrupt me!"

I throw him a listen-to-me-or-else-you-will-find-your-eyeballs-somewhere-other-than-your-eye-socket look, not like it matters as his back was towards me anyway. At least it made me feel better. I inwardly moan and lean against the side of the Sasuke's bed, slumped over as I try to readjust my thoughts. As usual, most of the troubling memories or ideas get chucked into the "Gaara's Forget-it-now-Remember-later Folder", though I will myself to go back and take out the files about Naruto's orphanage. As said before, it wasn't like me to pry and I probably wasn't going to ask Naruto about it anyway, so every scrap of information came to use.

Sasuke is now shouting at someone over the phone.

"Don't bother me! No! Grr, yes, I know, I know, you've been planning this—no! He doesn't know! Don't antagonize me about this! An. Ta. Ga. Nize. Don't you know what that means? It means to irritate. Don't irritate me about this!"

I slump to the left. I slump to the right. When it was obvious that Sasuke was never going to address the issue of what he was about to say, I get up on my feet, gather the now dried-out mugs (I hadn't realized we had left them on the floor… evidently, Sasuke wasn't actually planning to go to sleep, as he, 1) did not brush his teeth; 2) hadn't cleaned up the mugs and 3) taken off his clothes. I, being the weird boy I am, took no notice of these things… bah. Whatever. Not that I care) and proceed to walk out of the room and into the hallway.

Ok, not a good idea.

Did I mention that this house was big? Like, really, really humongously oversized? Yeah? Well, I'm mentioning it again. Why? Because the moment I stepped outside, I got lost. Like, really lost.

Wandering down some innocent looking hallways, I wander and wander and wander until it feels like I've been wandering around forever, like one of those lab rats you see on TV when those damn scientists want to "test a new theory" or some other crap like that. I'm not usually sentimental, but I just have to say that that is just plain cruel, especially if I can feel the mice's pain. Stupid scientist. Stupid Sasuke. Stupid house.

There was once a time when I wouldn't have cared if I was lost, or if I was in love with one of my friends, or that everyone around me seems to be getting hooked up or something. There was once a time when I used to lock myself in a broom closet giggling as I attempted to chop off my hands with a butter knife, because Baki wouldn't let me get my hands on anything else sharper than that after the Yashamaru incident. Ah, good times.

Anyway, I am still lost. I crash into a wall and feel very, very dazed. Ow.

Is it my fault that Sasuke and Itachi like their stuff black? Well, I like it too, but red's always been my color. Black is just… black. It kills my eyes and I don't really like how much I stand out with my embarrassingly red hair. I carefully massage my forehead and head down the now looming hallway, feeling my maniacal temper start to rise. Can't I find anything here?

Oh, and I lost the mugs somewhere too. No matter. Hopefully, Itachi scouts through all the halls every day and finds it somewhere covered with cobwebs.

And then, I hear it. A peal of laughter. People! I feel a spark of hope lift within me, if I had any hope left. There was a chance that I'd get out of this maze and not suffer for all eternity without ever seeing my sister, my brother or my guarding again and not going to school and confessing to Naruto after all!

I wander and wander and wander towards the voices until I walk through an archway and, lo and behold, see Itachi, Kisame, and my brother eating dinner. It was Kisame doing the laughing, in this sort of guttural manner. Scary, as this was the first time I've seen him laugh.

Can people's teeth naturally be that sharp?

"Gaara," Kankuro silently pleads at me with our silent exchanges, "help me!"

"Ah, Gaara!" Kisame turns around and addresses me, and Kankuro cringes in a way that I just knew that I was now royally screwed. "You should join us for dinner! Itachi makes some kickass dinners, you know!" I look at the dinner.

It looks good.

I am hungry.

Thus, I decide to sit down and eat (well, not that I had much of choice, as if I had decided to incline, Kisame would've forced me to sit down anyway). I wonder briefly if Sasuke knew I was gone and immediately cancelled the thought. Even if he knew, he wouldn't be the type to go looking out for me.

Kisame immediately fills the air with chatter, some things odd, awkward, or entirely inappropriate at the dining table. From the first couple of encounters I've had with this guy, I had already categorized him as the "big, dangerous and silent" type, as all I've seen him do until now was trace Itachi and act like one big stone-like shadow.

I have to revise that now. Does this guy ever shut up?

Itachi makes little agreeing noises, cocking his head, nodding, sometimes commenting or replying, but being mostly silent. I don't know—maybe their character has something to do with being "home". I mean, I'm not sure but I think we (the Sabaku siblings) act differently than what we'd act like in public; I know personally that the way I think and comment to myself isn't exactly what I reflect on the outside. Hmph. It wasn't any of my business anyway.

Kankuro, who's been gnawing on that stainless steel spoon for about five minutes now, looks pained.

"…and then Dei was IMing me yesterday about all his and Sasori's antics the past couple of weeks and he even sent me pictures. There were, like, six different positions and I was hoping we could try them out, if you have the time and energy of course. You want me to forward them to you? They're really quite interesting; there's this one where Sasori's head is somewhere in Dei's body and their legs look so tangled—eh, I don't think I'm that flexible… oh! They sent this other one that looks a little easier, but it needs stuff like ropes, and candles, and whips and some other weird stuff…"

Itachi nodded along, though looked as if Kisame received these types of emails all the time. I never knew nor wanted to know our wonderful neighbor, Dei's, personal life until now, what with him and this "Sasori" guy sending Kisame and Itachi homosexual sex positions to try out once in a while. Kankuro's practically foaming at the mouth. But then, he's friends with Dei, so what's the big deal?

I focus instead on my food. Itachi makes rather good food. I've eaten his hot chocolate and some of his yoga cookies from last time I was here, and yet I still find his food fascinating. What appears to be green spaghetti with a purplish sauce and almond and walnut bits sits in front of me, as well as a generous cup of fresh mineral water. A large pot sits in the middle of the table, full of more purple sauce and walnut bits, a smaller, wider plate next to it full of green noodles.

Never before have I seen anything like this in my life.

I must make a note to tell Temari about this and pray that she won't set our flat on fire like the last time one of us brothers asked her to make us something specific. The landlord was after our throats for weeks and Baki gave us all a fierce tongue-lashing after finally getting that blasted man off our backs. More good times.

"…and then I said to him, 'No!' and he was like, 'Yeah!' and we started discussing the best way to extract a piece of metal from deep inside one's body, and he was just like 'Just cut them all the way open and pull it out!' and I replied, 'But what if they bleed to death? What about infections and all that?' and he just said, 'Whatever, that's their problem; we're just here to take that damn thing out, right?' So anyway, Itachi, I think you should seriously consider interviewing that guy; I mean, gotta love that personality and everything, eh?"

"If I interviewed every man you recommended me from these 'executive parties' you attend, I'd be up to my elbows full of paperwork. Not until I get a background check and screening with I even consider something like that, Kisame." Itachi says patiently as he daintily slurps up his noodle. Kisame just pushes the food inside his mouth and lets all else fly. Ugh. I back away from the blue-skinned man and shift closer to my brother.

Kankuro has now decided to start gnawing on the stainless steel fork. At this rate, he'd have destroyed all the Uchiha silverware by the time we get out of this place. Like hell we were going to pay the price.

I glare at Kankuro from the edge of my eyes and take another bite out of my green and purple spaghetti. Tastes… different. Not unpleasant.

"…so I heard that that new Make Out Paradise book came out yesterday and I was looking through it, you know, and I was wondering, 'Heck, why doesn't this guy have a gay version of this thing' and I was thinking that maybe I can ask Sa—oh, hey Sasuke! How you doing?"

The young Uchiha ignores his brother's boyfriend and instead, harshly pulls my arm up and whispers, "I have to talk you. Like, right now."

Itachi, eavesdropping, frowns. "Now, Sasuke, Gaara is a guest and you really shouldn't interrupt him as he's eating dinner; it's very impolite, as you know…" Sasuke just throws a sort of snarl at his older brother and gruffly drags me away, not unlike the way he did when I first entered the Uchiha household today, either.

Instead of leading me back to his dark-space-Sasuke room, he pulls me down a flight of stairs to the basement, throws me into a room full of bright, flashing lights (shouldn't there be a sign that says: "Warning! Flashing lights may cause seizures!"? Of course, the Uchiha probably never hire seizure-prone employees, so whatever) and roughly kicks open a drawer.

I stare at him.

Squatting down, he mutters to himself darkly as he rummages through the humongous, metallic-blue cabinet, pulling out an assortment of little boxes, putting them back in, pulling them out again. I sit in a cool black rolling chair, trying hard not to rapidly blink at the flashing lights surrounding me.

Ah, the agony—they burn!

"Does that bother you?" Sasuke asks, doing his I-read-your-mind thing again, "Tech off." Everything made a sudden, chopped-up whirring noise and the lights flicked out. The flashing lights, I mean. I open my eyes again and aim a darkened glare in the general direction of Sasuke's duck butt. Again, with me glaring at his back. Well, at least it made me feel a little better.

Finally finding a box that looked just like all the other boxes he'd rejected, he chucks it at me and I catch it by reflex, almost falling out of my chair before straightening myself up. It is not cool for Sabaku no Gaara to fall out of a chair. That'll be too much like a Japanese manga, for not-God's sake.

I stare at the little black box and Sasuke says, "It's a cellphone."

"A what?"

"A cellphone."

I stare at it. I stare at him. He turns towards me and places his hands on his hips in this oh-so-feminine manner that makes me want to snort. I don't.

"It's for emergencies. We noticed you didn't have one so I'm giving you one."

"Don't you think you giving me a cellphone goes against my heritage as a Suna tech heir?"

"Yes, but it's your temporary line."

Before I can make a comprehensible comeback that is not only short, but to the point, he interrupts me.

"Sit down."

I open my hands wide and made a pointed glare towards my current position. He taps the hardwood floor and I slide, very slowly out of my chair. You can say I was still a little ticked off at Sasuke pulling me out of my odd, though well-cooked, dinner.

I'm still hungry.

"My point is this: you can have him. I do not care. As long as you do not drive him to commit suicide or to become evil or to become a Satanist or anything stupid and idiotic like that, I am fine."

Huh? HUH?!

What in the world? Did I just hear that come out of Uchiha Sasuke's mouth?!

Inner Gaara is going berserk with a pogo-stick and is giving me a migraine. Outer Gaara just looks blank.

Sasuke takes out a water bottle out of one of the cabinets, opens it effortlessly and takes a swig. I watch him, numb.

"And don't feel bad for me—not like you would, being the cold prick you are, no offense—but I've given up on him. I don't know… I wanted him close, but then when he got too close I chickened out and drove him away… there's no way for him to come back to me now, either." Another swig. It would've been funnier if he was choking down vodka or something, but then a drunken Sasuke is never a funny sight to see the day after. "God, I'm such a jerk. Don't mind me… maybe I should've taken Orochimaru's offer after all…"

"I don't know what you are muttering about," I state blatantly in my patented Gaara-monotone, "but if it involves Orochimaru, you must have lost your mind."

Another swig of water.

"I lost my mind a long time ago."

There is a silence as Sasuke keeps gulping down the water and me on the floor, staring at my new (temporary) cellphone and glancing at him, worried, at the corner of my eyes. Of course, my face remained blank but I was still worried. Him, suddenly dragging me out of dinner, sitting me down, and telling me I can have "him" (I hope that he's talking about Naruto because if he isn't, I'll twist his neck 'round) and now acting emo and considering siding with Orochimaru, pedophile-ing or something (not like that's a word, but as I said before, I am Sabaku no Gaara and Sabaku no Gaara has the rights to make new words whenever he feels like it).

Happy Gaara, Worried Gaara, Maniacal Gaara, Sensible Gaara, and many other different Gaaras are crowding in my mind right now, blubbering some nonsense in the background as I cock my head at Sasuke, who stumbles a little before falling to the floor. Damn medication. Damn Sasuke.

"Shuddup."

Oops, did I say that aloud? "What's wrong with you?"

He opens his eyes and glares at me menacingly, pointing at his water bottle with his left hand. I point at it. He points at it again. I point at it, raising a brow. He throws up his hands.

"You're being difficult, Gaara." he growls as he attempts to preserve his reputation and personality while curling up and putting his head in his knees. "Itachi evidently thought it funny to put sake in a water bottle. Screw that, he thought it was funny to put it in all the water bottles; I drank one yesterday and never thought he'd put that damn liquor in every single one of them."

Um. Oh. Awkward. I don't say anything, of course, just stayed silent as Sasuke gets up, shakes his head a little as if to clear the edge of drunkenness that had crept up upon him, and motioned me to follow him. I follow.

We patter up the steps again and back into his room (thank goodness, I wouldn't have been able to find it myself, if I'd tried) and Sasuke leaves me on the futon while he goes into his humongous oversized bathroom to take a shower, brush his teeth, and do whatever else Uchihas tend to do whenever they get ready to go to sleep. I briefly wonder what I'll do to clean my teeth, as my toothbrush wasn't exactly something I had grabbed on my way out the door. I finally decide to use Scope.

Ah, wonderful scope. It cleans everything (even toilet bowls… I know because of that one time Temari wanted us—us being Kankuro and I—to do the chores, and she refused to tell us where the toilet bowl cleaner was).

We're still silent, however. I mean, who wouldn't be?

Of course, I could pretend that what he was talking about earlier wasn't Naruto and that I didn't get what he was trying to say, but then even I'm not that dense. Plus, I make a really bad liar. I work my brain over this as I sit and sit and sit while waiting for Sasuke to finish his damn shower (he might've fallen over in the stall due to his drunkenness, but I wasn't about to go in there and check).

What happened today seems like someone taking my life, molding it as a pinball and rocketing around one of those pinball machines you find those arcades. I mean, it goes something like this: Kankuro and I fight, Temari locks us in Kankuro's room, we run away to Umino-san's place, meet up with crazy Itachi and shark-teeth Kisame, go over to their house, have a small meaningful talk with Sasuke, get lost, eat dinner with "the rest of the family" plus Kankuro, meet up with Sasuke again, Sasuke gives me a cell phone and tells me very literally that I can have Naruto (Inner Gaara is still running around in circles here), Sasuke gets drunk and decides to go to bed, and I am now sitting here, waiting for him to be done so I can go clean my mind—and mouth—out with Scope.

He said I could have Naruto.

He said I could have Naruto.

Rewind. Naruto. Naruto. So we've been having a silent competition for these two weeks and all of a sudden he decides to just give up and give me his blessing (like a father giving off his daughter)?!

I am slightly suspicious. I mean, this is Sasuke we are talking about—super-possessive, keep-away-from-Naruto-or-else-I'll-mince-you ulterior-motive Uchiha Sasuke. If he was just "giving up" Naruto, he might have an ulterior motive or plan up his sleeve to later snatch him away… but if I looked upon Sasuke like a normal human being (which he is not, I assure you—he is as normal of a human being as I am), the reason behind his white flag is the fact that either a) Naruto rejected him b) He realized that he and Naruto would never make a good pairing or c) He just gave up?! The water stops running. I emotionlessly glance at the closed bathroom door, face blank, though inside, it's more like this:

Gyaaaaaahahahaaaaaaaaablahuhuhuhuhbiwalwaaaaaaa

Very literally, thank you very much.

"Do you have any scope?"

"Do I have any what?"

Sasuke comes out half-naked and dripping wet, hair plastered to his head in what one might suppose to be a "sexy" manner, though I continue to wrack my brain over today's wonderful new developments. "Why do you want scope? And no, we don't have any."

Dammit. Whatever. I show him my blinding white teeth (despite my murderous past, dysfunctional family, crazy love life and twisted record, I've always kept my nice, sharp teeth clean and pretty) and ask, very politely, for a toothbrush.

"You have anything I can clean these with?"

All right, so maybe I wasn't all that polite, but growing up practically mute and living with Kankuro does wonders to your politeness. Sasuke chucks a thin white plastic item in my general direction and I catch it effortlessly in between my teeth. Score for the volcano boy.

After brushing my teeth with tomato-flavored toothpaste (tomato flavored?) I head back into Sasuke's humongous room and notice that the futon had been changed. Sasuke, on the other hand, is sprawled very matter-of-factly on his bed, face down, under large blue blankets decorated with that weird fan that seems to decorate everything Sasuke owns or wears. He doesn't move as I pass him, even when I decide to poke him with my toe.

He could've been dead, for all I know.

Tucking into my now red futon (I actually didn't mind the blue one all that much; I mean, it was Naruto's for goodness' sake—I'll sleep in anything that that blonde had touched, most likely), I close the lights ("Lights off. Oh. It worked.") and ponder

I know with absolute certainty what I am going to do tomorrow. And I know I'm going to do it. Trying to hush out the giggling murmurings in my mind with a tune I happened to remember from the radio, I turn onto my side, open my eyes, and give the floor one of my rare, white-teethed grins.

"Good night."

"Good morning!" A loud thump. A groan. I crack open a tired, probably purple-ringed eye and glare at whatever had just opened the damn curtains, letting the sun blind me in all its goody-goody brilliance. Judging from the growling noise now being emitted from that ball on the queen-sized bed, Sasuke is having similar thoughts.

"Aniki!" The mentioned Uchiha ignores his little brother's protests and literally envelops the teenager in a sort of blanket-cocoon hug, leaning over the squirming bundle's shoulders and giving me a quick, millisecond wink.

Finally, Sasuke breaks loose. "Aniki!" He shrieks in what I might call a morning-throat shriek—high-pitched and raspy—"I'm going to kill you! Get out of my room! I hate you!"

Itachi smoothly pulls himself away from the flaming youth, pulls on a stern face, and says, "Breakfast's ready; you better not be late for school again, Sasuke, or else you'll never get the same kind of scores I got when I was your age, you understand me? Oh, and you, too, Gaara. Except for the grade part. But breakfast is ready, and if you don't get your little butt down into the dining room in the next five minutes, Kisame will have eaten it all." Before the younger Uchiha had a chance to reply, the elder CEO had vanished.

"I hate him," Sasuke growls, hair mussed as he slowly drags himself out of bed, "I hate him for waking me up, I hate him for spiking my water, and I hate him with all my soul for giving me this goddamn hangover. Gaara, aren't you getting up?"

"No."

"You'll miss breakfast."

Silence.

"You'll be late for school."

"I'm not planning to go to school today."

"Really?"

Silence.

He narrows his eyes, though doesn't question exactly where I was planning to go, turning his back towards me as he rummages through his enormous wardrobe before picking out a long-sleeved black shirt and some black jeans. The black-clad gothic-like member of our group—at least, he would be if he didn't insist on wearing that dorky headband.

"I like my headband." he snaps at me coldly in another "I-read-your-mind" moments as he tugs it onto his forehead. "My parents gave it to me for my fifth birthday. Actually, my mother won it for me at a festival." I raise my eyebrow, waiting for more, but the other adolescent wasn't about to spill his life story for me detail-by-detail like he had done last time (I am almost positive that he did that last time just because Naruto was there). He finishes dressing and I wait until the pitter-patter of his footsteps fade away before throwing off my own covers and shaking my head.

Running a lithe hand through my hair, I realize how crumpled my shirt and pants must be from sleeping in them all night long (I had forgotten to take them off before sleeping; wonderful, another reason Temari would have for eating me alive) and shake my head again. Stupid hair.

As I get up and around to clean my face in then nice, three-sink, platform shower and bathtub bathroom Sasuke just happens to own (even Naruto's house isn't this luxurious; I'm guessing that Uchiha Corps. must be more successful than the Make-Out Paradise Erotica crap that Naruto's uncle, Jiraiya, sells) I realize that I wouldn't be able to make it out of the room alive without getting lost again, like last time.

Wonderful. I am so stupid.

I peer out the window, wondering if I could shimmy down that tree and survive. I mean, it's the quickest way out, right? Or, maybe I can rediscover my awesome Tarzan powers and swing my way out. Or, perhaps, I'm actually the long lost grandson of Superman and all I have to do is jump out the window and hope I don't get hit by some random, aerial kryptonite. Yes, and maybe I shouldn't be here blanking out and wasting a precious ten seconds thinking about such stupid things like this.

Thankfully, however, I did not need to shimmy down a tree, become Tarzan, nor commit almost certain suicide by throwing myself out the window as Itachi, right at that moment, stuck his towel-wrapped head into the room. "Gaara, are you not coming down for breakfast? Sorry, Kisame ate all the sour-cream cookies; he's working on the pepper-eggs right now, so you better hurry…"

"Um… can you show me the way to the dining room?"

"What? Oh, well, I guess this house is kind of big. Here, let me get my mascara and lip gloss first, just hold on a second." I wait as Itachi whirls down the hall and whirls back up again, towel gone and makeup kit in his left hand. "Don't tell anyone about this," he points at the bag. "Bad for the company, you know. Anyway…" He makes the same exact gesture Sasuke had made towards me yesterday to follow him and I follow.

Funny how similar brothers can be. Not-God, I hope Kankuro and I aren't that similar. I'll kill myself before letting me become a player like him.

I shuffle behind him and find myself, once again, in the dining room. I don't even bother to look at what Kisame was doing over there with those eggs; I couldn't tell if he was eating them, molesting them, or both. Ugh.

Sasuke sits opposite of Kisame and next to Kankuro (who is looking almost as ragged as I am—possibly, Kisame and Itachi were up to their "antics" all night long… ha, ha, loser) and has chosen to eat a more traditional Japanese breakfast: miso soup, fish and rice. I briefly look around to see where the Asian cuisine had come from before realizing that all the origins of food had come from… Itachi.

"Does he do all the cooking here?" I ask Sasuke, who nods curtly before swallowing his mouthful of rice.

"We used to have a cook, but then she left after we complained about the food… we had, like, a gazillion more cooks but they all quit because of our 'snobbish Uchiha taste buds' or something, so Itachi took the task upon himself. I mean, he's the CEO but he's not above cooking, you know." I peer at Kisame again and see that he has finished molesting—er, eating—his eggs and was now working on the English muffins

Leaning down, I pick up an English muffin before Kisame can devour it and turn towards Kankuro, who had also chosen a more Japanese diet.

"Kankuro," I say flatly, "I need to borrow the car."

Kankuro looks at me suspiciously between narrowed, stormy green eyes.

"…why? Can't you take the school bus with mini-Itachi or something?" I glare straight back, all electrifying and demanding, and he looks down.

"I'm not going to school." I declare flatly. "I'm skipping." I face Itachi. "Itachi, can you drive my brother to his college?"

Itachi is silent and staring forward out of the kitchen window, gaze set and steady as he slowly steps back and faces the table, holding a plate of pancakes. "I have a meeting at eight," he murmurs, "so if he doesn't mind going early, he can ride with me. Kisame, get ready my briefcase—what are you doing?"

"Mommy muffin had sex with Daddy muffin and they had two baby muffins," Kisame cackles insanely as he shifts the little muffin bits around, "but then one of the baby muffins died and Mommy muffin and Daddy muffin were sad… so they had sex and had more baby muffins…" he places them all carefully in a row. "But then… the evil shark from the underworld came and ate them! Roar!"

Kankuro and I exchange glances, raising our brows (in Kankuro's case, his eyebrows). Sasuke just finishes his soup, places it inside the sink and mumbles something about leaving for the bus and Itachi closes his eyes. I can just feel his migraine coming on.

Before any other wonderful fun can happen, I snatch Kankuro's car keys and bow towards Itachi—"Thank you for letting me stay tonight"—before making a direct beeline out the door. I'm so happy I can find the door without getting embarrassingly lost, thought it make be due to the fact that it is like this tall and you spot it anywhere on the first floor. Whatever.

I feel doubt nagging at the back of my mind but I gently wave it off—I'm not one to worry about my own decisions over and over again and I wasn't really about to start now. Carefully unlocking the car, I drag myself inside, start the ignition and pray to not-God (or Kami, I guess) that I won't get caught driving when my driving-limit-thing already went over three days ok.

Only Kami knows (I'm going to refer to him as Kami now… because Kami sounds… cool)

Who knows driving in a car for several hours on end gets boring after a while? All guilty members must raise their hands now.

It's been a little over two hours and I'm hunched up here in the pitiful little shade my Chevy allows me, driving with two fingers on the wheel (which would be much to the horror of Baki, who taught all three of us Sabaku siblings how to drive) and the hardcore metal rock station blasting full-sound out of the radio. I'm sure any decent-minded Christian-fanatic would've liked to shoot me in the heart two times for the racket I was making on the freeway. Whatever.

I must be hallucinating, now. I think I see Baki waving at me from the middle of the road. Wonderful. I drive right through the hallucination and keep going, feeling as if my eyes had suddenly gained three pounds on each lid and were now threatening to shut close and risk me driving into a pole or something. However, the squabble in my head keeps me from fully succumbing the sleep my body insists I get and keeps my eyes on the road. Damn voices. They've been gradually getting louder, more insistent, and a lot less understandable since the effects of the last pill I'd taken had worn off yesterday. Hence, the loud, booming rock music.

I decide to take a stop at a rest area, load my car full of coke, unload my bladder, and sit on the park bench in the cool, California spring breeze and blink several times. I knew damn well that if I started driving again in this state, hallucinating and hearing voices, it'd be likely that I'd crash and possibly get myself killed or arrested. Sometimes, I think this is my father's way of punishing me. Plaguing me with a damn mental disease that may or may not subdue later in life just seems like a perfect revenge for him.

It wasn't really that bad before—at first, it was just hushed voices and paranoia. I hated communicating with people and socializing, as I'd always feel that prickling sensation on my neck that someone was gossiping about me behind my back. That paranoia led to my violence and anger issues in the treatment center but subsided after Temari started forcing those pills down my throat. I very rarely forget to take my medicine, so I don't exactly know when it started happening, but I realized that after about fifteen, I'd start hallucinating as well as hearing voices (it seemed like the hallucinations replaced my anxiety, though I am still unsure if this was a good or bad thing). The hallucinations almost always centered on people I know—Baki, Naruto, Neji, Sasuke, Temari and Kankuro—and usually consisted of me seeing them staring at me will blank, lifeless eyes at the corner of my eyes. At first, it scared the shit out of me, but now, I guess I'm used to it.

People get used to the strangest things sometimes.

Besides, as I said before, I rarely forget to take my medication. That is why I know, deep inside me, that Sasuke cannot be possibly in front of me dressed in a bunny suit singing "I'm a little teacup" with Naruto by his side, wearing nothing but a leash. The Naruto part is probably more of something my sick fantasies have created, but Sasuke? Um… no. I bow my head down into my knees and wait, anxiously, for this "episode" to past.

About twenty minutes later, I'm back inside the car, balancing a coke bottle between my lips and the wheel, two fingers once again driving and the radio station off. I glance at the clock again—12:37—grit my teeth, and accelerate to sixty miles per hour. Am I not there yet? Because I'm getting a butt cramp.

You do not want to be around Sabaku no Gaara when he gets a butt cramp.

Finally, I soar through very familiar gates, ignore the stares people give me as I refuse to slow down my pace, and look straight forward, sipping my coke. Tall, orange-bricked building, a good number of stories high, menacing and professional-looking to the mere outsider, standing erect near the center of town. A place full of grief and hatred, and where grief and hatred are heading to now.

"Welcome, all American outsiders," the sign outside the town declared to all who bothered to slow down to a crawl to read it, "to Sunagakure."

A slice of hell and back again.

"…excuse me, sir, but there isn't an appointment on here for someone named 'Sabaku no Gaara'."

I glare holes into the secretary's make-up lined face and she squeaks, attempting to sink into her chair.

"I told you before, let me talk directly to the manager and I'll take it from there."

"B-b-b-but you need an appointment—" I give up. To be more accurate, I give up trying to convince her to very kindly let me go. Narrowing my eyes, I very aggressively push past the secretary's desk and towards the stairs, ignoring the cries of alarm filling the air.

As I nimbly jump from one stairway to the next, I feel the bile taste of resentment build up deep in that pit at the bottom of my stomach (been a long time since that's happened, huh?). I slow my pace to a walking snail-pace speed, contemplating.

What was I doing here? In all aspects, I don't belong. Not that I'd ever belong, even though I'm to be the next CEO of this gigantic company of doom, seeing as my taste in technology has yet to be tested. And yet, as I conquer step after step, my thoughts turn from bewilderment to sadness and from sadness, to anger.

This was all his fault, anyway. If he hadn't pretended so earnestly to like me, to love me, to cuddle me, I wouldn't have had the same reaction to his rejection than what I had done. If he hadn't smiled that fake smile of his and rose up my hopes, it wouldn't have been such a fall when my world came crashing down around me.

My fingers clench and I vaguely comprehend that I am now working my way to the fourth floor. He is on the tenth. Six more to go.

He hated you right from the start, because you killed her, her, her, her, his precious sister—it's all your fault anyway, it's what you did, not his, never his—I attempt to shake that hissing voice of doubt in my head and, instead, plunge into another whispering—

Is there something wrong with me? A curse? Is it this that keeps plaguing my heart as I move from place to place, city to city, clinging onto my skin? Is it because I killed him? I killed mother—both mothers—no, no, no, I didn't kill him; he's still alive and I'm going to go see him right now and give him a piece of my mind—I wasn't to be a coward any more, shut up—

These feelings are so conflicting. I'm not sure which—do I want him dead… or myself? For a second, I lean against the wall for support as I am wracked by another schizophrenic episode of hatred, face strained. The moment passes and I regain my breath, which had been haggard just moments before.

"This is dangerous." I say to myself in deathly cold voice, a cold voice matching the ice freezing in my heart. "Why am I doing this?"

Because I told you to, says Sensible Gaara. Before I can reply with something tart, he vanishes.

One step. Another. Why did he do it? What am I going to tell him? Am I going to just go in there and be like, "Hey, you ruined my life"? What's the point in that? Will he even care?

Do I want to make him feel guilty for destroying my life?

Yes, the malicious voice of him suddenly snaked into my being, yes, make him feel all the pain and suffering he inflicted on us—make him feel more than sorry, guilty, angry and crush his spirit to dust. I am suddenly filled with complete rage, a torrent of angry phrases I've always kept quietly inside me filling my mind in every which way.

I am not useless, I can do this, how dare you do this to me, what did I do to you, it's not my fault, it's yours, I can't help it, please stop, you're a selfish son of a bastard who destroyed the trust of a six-year old boy, please stop it, why did you pretend for so long when you hated me deep inside, why, do you really hate me, why, do you really really hate me, am I a bad boy, I didn't do it on purpose, this blood on my hands is because of you, what did you do to me, I hate you, I wish you'd like me like I liked you—

The eighth floor crawls by, as does the ninth. The last flight of stairs is being shakily conquered by me, whose vision feels narrowed, focused, and pointedly directed at the middle of the stairway. What do I want to say to him? Though my newfound (or newly awakened) knowledge crushed me from all corners, I know that inside, there is a reason why my mind had clung to those bittersweet memories of my childhood.

Temari, with her little fan and playfully violet sundress. Kankuro, goofy smile all over his face as he convinces me to join in yet another going-to-fail prank. Baki, strict frown yet warm eyes and his I-told-you-so-voice. Father, the hidden shadow behind the knives he used to give me. And Mom, whose name is Yashamaru as I know now, dirty blonde hair and gentle reprimands, before he revealed his true self.

Or was that his fake self? What is real and what is fake—Kankuro had said that Dad was "pushing" Yashamaru, but how much of that was true?—is being blurred and I look down at my feet. I'm wearing tattered old boots that must have immediately alerted everyone within a ten feet radius that I was most likely some hobo the minute I stepped into the building. My clothes are wrinkled from sleeping in them and I must look haggard due to my building insomnia. Screw this.

"I always wanted to tell you that you may have taken control of life for the past something years, but that does not mean I cannot take a stand to you now. I have to tell you that you hurt me really bad." No, too wimpy and childish. I hobble on.

"Yashamaru. We must talk now." No…

"I hate you! You ruined my life! I WISH YOU'D GO JUMP OFF A CLIFF!" It conveys my feelings nicely and yet… it's crude. I give up. The rage has built up deep in my chest and suddenly, I feel as if I am on fire. Very literally.

The last step. Suddenly, I sort of feel like God. Who knows why. Full of wrath and anger—yep, just like him. Suddenly, everything stills. A floating sensation washes over me as the mix of my emotions and schizophrenic voices ripple by my side, and, in a flash, I am out of my body.

Like a wandering spirit, I see myself slowly approach the doors at the tenth floor, face passive and void of all emotion and yet still twisted in a conundrum of anger and confusion, hand brushing against the doorknob.

I watch with a twisted feeling crawling in my gut as my body slowly turns the knob, watch as my eyes flare up in swelled-up anger and frustration, and watch as the door slowly opens. I step fiercely inside.

The world blows still. A weird metaphor, and yet I feel it accurate.

A dark, red-tinged mahogany desk filled to the brim with paperwork and pencils. A large-screen TV imbedded into the left wall. A small, white laptop. Cardboard boxes, strewn about the edges of the room. Framed newspaper articles, glued onto the walls. A large black rolling chair.

A tousled blonde head, bent down in paperwork.

My anger hitches in my throat as my piercing green eyes lock onto that bobbing head, feet slowly but surely moving towards that desk. Step by step. Anger rising, pounding without mercy against my head, I slowly walk until I am directly in front of the mess of paper, shadowing the blonde man.

Finally, he looks up.

"Can I help you?"

In that split second, I feel as if an arrow had pierced the anger surrounding my heart. The confusion and pain just… drift away, and I am left, tired and deflated—a sixteen year old boy hovering dangerously close to the regent CEO of Suna Tech, eyes blank without emotion and face contorted in one of anguish. Deflated.

I just want to go home.

"Hey, Mom." is my gruff answer, soft and hoarse

. Large navy, almost brilliant purple, eyes widen in horror and the man's face pales to the shade of paper-white. Scared, and terrified. As if he had just seen a ghost. He suddenly looks almost as old as I feel, face sagging down in one of defeat and hand gripping the table until they were white. The fingers suddenly let go of their victim and fold themselves softly his lap, and the man looks at me with a look that brings a wave of nostalgia to my mind.

"Gaara." He clears his throat, and I can't help but noticing his hand shaking slightly as he brings it to his mouth. "Um… this is quite a surprise."

Oh, yes, what a surprise. Abandoning me all these years and all of sudden, heave-ho, I'm here, in your face, demanding for answers. And you will give me answers, you god-forsaken bastard. Sit down and don't talk, or else I'll put this switch knife to your throat, you hear me?

"Yeah…" I say, so quietly even my own ears strained to hear my whispers, "I wanted… to talk to you… about something." My legs tremble. I want to bolt. Run away from the confusion and pain that's been haunting me, lurking behind my thoughts all these years, bolt to the car and drive as fast I can—anywhere, as long as it was far away from here. I force myself to stand still.

What are you so afraid of? You're Sabaku no Gaara. You can do anything.

If only that was true.

"Okay. That's cool." Mom—Yashamaru—puts down his pen. Puts down his paper. Looks me in the eye. "What do you want to talk about?"

My mouth feels dry. Parched. Dead. I try to say all the thoughts, the feelings that have bubbled up to the surface in all my recollections these past days:

Why did you do it? Bastard, I thought you loved me. You tried to kill me, and I tried to kill you. I thought you were dead. Why did I kill Mother? Why did you blame me? Is it my fault? Is it still my fault? I'll try to be a good boy. Anything to take the guilt away. Why? Why are you standing there like nothing's wrong? Why haven't you withered away, like me? How? Why?!

My lips move. My tongue complies. "I… um… my band…"

Mom's face is unreadable—the emotions flickering through his expressions run so fast that the best word to describe it is "expressionless". Slowly, his hands rise until they are crossed together, supporting his chin as he blinks up at me.

"'Name', right? Baki told me about you guys." I know more about you then you think, Gaara. I've been keeping track of you.

The unspoken words are killing me. I feel cold—chilled, like I am standing in the midst of an iceberg. My eyes dart from his face to the wall—the newspapers. Half of them blare out developments from Suna Tech; the other half talk about the conspiracy the Ex-CEO had caused and the poor little boy who went insane. A picture of me, twelve, in court twists my stomach until I feel nauseous and I immediately turn back to face Mom, who is quiet. Still.

He knew I was looking.

Why the hell do you keep track of me? For what? So you can hurt me again? Don't even bother trying to pretend you love me—I can see through your lies. What are your motives? How did you become a regent? Why is it that even after you tried to kill me, Baki and you are still on good terms? Shut your mouth—I don't want to hear you speak, you hear me? I'm going to punish you for all the anguish you caused me all these years—all this pain.

"Yeah." I say simply. "I just… we…"

My hands move on their own accord. I watch, a ghostly specter, in fascination as my hands reach into my pockets, and it just so happens that there is something in there. Two sheets of fine, glossy paper. Horrified, I watch what comes out of my mouth next. My puppet mouth. My out-of-control, I-will-not-say-what-you-want-me-to-say mouth.

My hands place the two papers on the table. My mouth is dry and my eyes, wide in horror. What the hell was I doing? No—stop it! This isn't want I came here for! I came here for confrontation. For an explanation. Not a—a pretty-boy two-minute talk that ends with—ends with—

My mouth continues to speak. I can't control it.

"We're g-going to the Battle of the Bands… this week. Tickets." Tickets? What were tickets doing in my pocket?!

Mom looks at the tickets, and looks back at me. I try to keep my expression passive—apathetic. The instinct to run has gripped my legs. I am immobilized—glued on the spot.

"Okay, Gaara." He smiles. I remember that same smile, before everything had happened—smiling as he pushed me on the swings, as he held my hand as we went to get ice cream from the ice cream man—and I shiver, with suspicion.

This man did not look like the same man that had attempted to smash my head in with a wine bottle, all those years ago. I remember that image clearly—me, terrified as I looked up at the blonde-ragged locks, crazed violet eyes whose pupils had shrunk to small dots, face anguished and sweaty and hand dripping blood. The desperation about his expression was clear. Now, however, the man sitting in front of me, gazing at me blankly appeared to be who I always thought he'd be—even if my mind was screaming contradictions.

It is unnerving.

After a moment of subdued silence, I decide to take my leave.

Each step away from the table, away from the soft-spoken blonde man with the strange violet eyes brings a weird hitch to my throat. I want it to stop. What convinced me to come here in the first place?

Stupid teenage-stubbornness, that's what. It's my only excuse.

My hand is on the doorknob. I move to turn, when I heard that soft, familiar voice fluttering to my ears.

"Gaara, wait."

I don't turn around completely, but I look at the man from the corner of my eye and catch the expression in his eyes. I'm not usually an expert in reading the "windows to one's soul" and yet I immediately saw exactly what kind of torment was lying inside Mom's heart.

A deep, heart-wrenching sadness, and a guilt that bore away at him daily, well-hidden in a tangle of conflicting emotions. Open to him now as he spoke. Quietly. Soft. With an emotion that attempted to push back my barricade of suspicion.

"All those years ago… I know we both made a lot of mistakes. I'm not saying we should start over… judging from what Baki has told me, that's far from the case. It's just that…" his voice cracks. Oh, not-god, I hate it when their voices crack. "…back then, I said a lot of bad things to you. I was so angry then, and so young. I didn't realize the effects of my words until afterwards—long afterwards. I admit to you, I resented you from ever since you were young…"

He sighed. "But, later on, you grew on me. I was fond of you. And because I started to grow fond of you, your father used that love growing inside me and twisted it around. I can't say it's entirely his fault—it was my own, too—but he made me feel guilty for liking you—you, who was my 'sister's killer'. After everything happened, I went to have treatment, you know. Baki came and talked to me, and told me everything… about what happened… especially at your treatment center…" He's shaking. I know he's shaking.

Or, maybe, I'm the one that's shaking. Whoever it was, the world was rumbling, bubbling, threatening to explode. I push the urge down and force myself to remain calm as I try to open my mind to his story. How can I trust him, this man that destroyed me? How do I know his words aren't lies? His voice and face and body language all display honesty, and yet he's tricked me before.

"I'm sorry, Gaara. I really am. I'm not expecting you to forgive me… but know that I am on your side."

I can't handle it. I flee.

The schizophrenia is catching up to me, and the rumbling, bubbling earth was so close to the surface, I feel my face pale in contrast. Flinging open the door, I run out with that horrible expressionless mask plastered to my face, coolly jumping five stairs at a time and wondering blearily if I'll be caught by security.

But even as I reach the last level and speed-walk out of the lobby, no security man came after me. Even the security said nothing as the door slowly clicked shut, and I numbly get into the car.

Nothing.

The wheel was wet. It angered me—why the hell was the wheel wet?

It wasn't until I drove five minutes out of the city that I realized that the wetness were tears, and that those tears were dripping down my face. Crying, without emotion.

No, that was wrong, I berated myself.

I was crying. I was crying out all my confusion and emotions built up over the years, and I didn't even bother to stop it. I was too tired.

I just wanted to go home.

Ring—

Ignore it. Hands, gripping white on the wheel.

Ring, ring—

That damn thing's vibrating, too. I curse Sasuke for weighing me down with such a—such a worthless piece of metal, and the urge to throw the thing on the dashboard was overwhelming. I am disorganized and confused. Afraid. Scared.

Should I accept it? Should I not? He said he wasn't expecting me to forgive him, but knowing what he said, does it make me feel better?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Stop asking me these questions—

Ring, Ring, Ring—

It's annoying. Aggravating. I don't pick up, and a second later, the phone rings again.

My sense of self is weakened. Numb. I give in, and fumble with my other pocket before finally grabbing the cellphone Sasuke had thrown at me just the other night.

How slow time flies…

"Hello?"

"Gaara!?" My eyes snap open from the trance-like stupor they were in a moment ago, and I almost swerve off the road. Gathering myself (and my place in lane, to the annoyance of the cars behind me), I grip the cellphone with stone-like strength.

"Gaara, you finally picked up! Thank god—when Sasuke, that bastard, told me that you just went off on your own to who-knows-where I was so worried you were going to drive off to your death—you aren't, are you? Anyway, I'm off playing hooky again—not much fun in school, anyway. Neji's having a hissy fit 'cause someone stole his little turtle-choker and he's been off on a rampage. Personally, I think it's Hinata who stole it, bless her soul, but whatever. Are you okay? Not going to commit suicide?"

I giggle uncharacteristically, and once the first high-pitched noise had left my mouth, I can't stop. I have to park by the side of the road to ensure I won't crash into something and unintentionally commit suicide as I giggle my little head off. I start to hiccup in the midst of giggling and I alternate between the two.

"…Gaara? Gaara, are you okay? Oh my God, Gaara, you're not turning insane again are you? Did you take your schizophrenia medicine? Gaara? Gaara, do you hear me?"

"Of course," I manage to gasp out before giggling again, "Hehe… you're just another voice in my head… hehe… hehehe…"

"Gaara, I'm not a voice in your head! Calm down! It's me! Naruto—the greatest guy in all of Konoha? Hello? Are you alright? Here, how far away are you from Konoha?"

"Twenty minutes." I giggle, not believing the voice on the phone. I don't know, but it seems that the whole world had faded away, and I was in a really, really weird dream. I was probably sprawled in Sasuke's house, still sleeping away, and everything that had just happened was a figment of my imagination. I can't help my giggling—the laughter just bubbles out from my gut and is incontrollable.

"Okay, Gaara, calm down. Breathe in and out, in and out. Focus—don't lose yourself! Man, are you high or something? Breathe slowly…" I follow the voice happily. The miniature anxiety attack fades and I recollect myself, mind slowly restoring its IQ levels back to one of acceptable human-intelligence.

"…better?"

"Better."

"Okay. Thought I lost you there… you know how scary you get when you have one of those attacks. Promise me the first thing you'll do when you get into Konoha's borders is to go and get some of that schizophrenia medicine you take, alright?"

"Okay."

"And after that, meet me at the ice cream parlor, okay?"

"You're not going to bring Sasuke with you, are you?"

Naruto sounds appalled, and, dare I say, amused? "No, I'm not going to bring that walking epitome of emo-ness with me. Don't worry. Just you and me. Together. Okay?"

I nod dumbly, then realize he can't see me nodding on the phone. "Oh… uh… okay. Why? Are you mad at me, too?"

Naruto laughs, and I immediately take a snapshot of that laugh—store it in my folds of consciousness and lock it up, tight. His laugh is clear and strong, and sometimes I wish I can laugh like that. Not giggle like the insane maniac I am.

"Gaara, you're so dense. Anyway, I have to hang up 'cause the principal just spotted me, but I'll meet you there, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, bye!"

"Bye."

I toss the phone into the passenger seat and grip the wheel with my icy, cold hands.

I hate this car's air conditioning.

The house is empty when I arrive—Temari and Kankuro are both off at the University and Baki's been gone for ages. I finally find my medication bottle in the back of the medicine cabinet, take the pills, swallow, and get back into the car.

Suddenly, the whole flat looks vacant and hollow—the emptiness chills me to the bone. I shake off the feeling with a slight shudder before starting the engine and backing out of the driveway (I'm still amazed some police officer hadn't caught me yet for going over my license restriction).

I look, for the first time, at the disheveled houses that make up the more hidden district of Konoha—the dirty roofs and mangled doors, the weathered shingles and cracked sidewalks. I also note the fleeting, content expressions mingling among the Konoha crowd, their willingness to accept their situation. And move on.

I wonder briefly if their outlook in life had affected mine.

The ice cream parlor is the same as always—situated on a corner, small, with the slight whiff of antiquity clinging to its décor. The bell rings as I step in and for a moment I expect bouncy Tenten to lead me to the table where a certain blonde sat, cross-legged with a hand under his chin. Instead, a fumbling young man escorts me and my brain explains to me that school is still going on and Tenten was no way near "rebellious" enough to skip school for her job.

Naruto perks up the moment he sees me, large blue eyes widening a little and a tugging at the ends of his lips, bringing him into a cute smile. I decide immediately that I really like that smile.

I sit down.

"You calm?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely positive?"

"Naruto," I raise my voice slightly and he looks, oddly, happy. Wearing a large black t-shirt that declared that he "wanted me to be a piñata" and some dark navy jeans, his hair looked like it'd been pulled through his car. He notices me looking.

"Neji." he explained, hand running self-consciously through his tufted blonde hair. "Right after he found the choker missing, he immediately put the blame on me. What'd I do?"

"You are the king of pranks," I note dryly. "Even now, you're skipping school."

"School's overrated."

"Uh-huh."

I order a strawberry milkshake from the waiter. Naruto cocks his head left and has the decency to look worried. "You okay, Gaara?" he asks, leaning forward so that he can brush some of my red locks away from my eyes. "You're awfully pale."

He brushed my hair out of my eyes. He brushed my hair out of my eyes. Excuse me for a split second while Romantic-Gaara goes runs in circles. Thank Not-God my expressions only flicker for that long. I look away from him.

"I'm okay. What did you bring me here for?"

Naruto smiles a more devious smile, eyes narrowing a bit and his brilliantly white teeth show. "Nothing. Well, okay, everything." He leans forward again, hand reaching out to grab my chin and force me to stare at him.

Damn.

He scrutinizes me with those curious sky-blue eyes and whispers:

"Do you remember what you told me at the treatment center, all those years ago?"

I stare at him blankly (though not without looking like a fish without water), mind completely blank of comprehension. He's too close, and I can smell that familiar, sun-tinged scent on him, clinging onto his soft, tan skin. I blink.

I had told him a lot of things at the treatment center. I can play dumb and tell him that. I can play naïve and clueless and dense and all those other things I've been unconsciously playing without sounding wimpy for the past two weeks and continue my little blind game.

Truth is, I'm tired.

Meeting with Yashamaru drained the will out of me, along with my fear and anxiety and whatever crap I had kept in my heart for so long. I'm tired of playing my own stupid game and I want to quit.

Because the truth is—I know. I know, and I've been avoiding everything like a dog with its tail between its legs, scared and terrified for myself and my relationships. Trying to put on an aggressive, no-touch expression on the outside, just because I was hurt once.

"Yeah." I say calmly in my reputed dead monotone, no stutter in my words and no hint of fear, "I… confessed… to you."

Naruto grins again—the same devious grin that he had flashed at me a second ago. I suddenly know that he's got something up his sleeve. Something I don't know about.

My brow furrows in slight suspicion.

"Remember why you got kicked out of the treatment center? Why it got shut down within a month of you leaving? Why Professor Orochimaru looks so familiar?"

I shudder. This was hard. I'm tempted to whine in my Gaara-fashion that I don't know anything and why was he asking me this, but I don't. I wasn't going to play my own game anymore. I'm Sabaku no Gaara.

Not a coward. Not a frightened dog.

Gotta remember that.

"I… I… was chained to a bed." Maybe? It might have been a dream—no, I was—I'm sure… "The psychiatrist—no, Orochimaru, had chained me there. He wanted to… rape… me, but then you came and went all MPD on him. The nurses… had to drag you out and calm you down and Umino-san called Baki, who took me out of the treatment center the next day." Or was it the next week? The next hour? No, no, no, it was the next day. "He led a lawsuit against the treatment center… something about the center not abiding by the rules and torturing their patients… and it closed down."

Naruto's nodding. I know I got it right, and suddenly I'm filled with little-kid ecstasy. No more hiding. It's all out there.

"Do you remember…" he asked, "what I said afterwards? The morning before you left?"

I'm still.

Do I know this?

Naruto leans a little closer, and I wrinkle my nose at him. The waiter had left the strawberry milkshake at the edge of the table and hurried off. Homophobe.

Naruto's lost the smile on his face, and in return he's replaced it with one of deep seriousness. Scary. I've never seen Naruto so focused on something before. I blink and shake my head.

The blonde seems almost amused at the fact that he's going to have to answer his own question for me. He teases me with his own nose-wrinkling.

"'Like you, too, you idiot.'"

Then, I will swear to the God I now know exists, he kisses me. On the lips.

He leans forward, tilts his head sideways and slowly puts his lips on mine—soft, warm, and smelling like the sun. He doesn't close his eyes or blink, and I don't either, just stare at him in shock.

I would've opened my mouth like a fish in water, too, except for the fact that I knew if I did so I may find a tongue in there not my own. Then I'd faint.

And Sabaku no Gaara does not faint from a simple kiss.

Despite this fact, however, it looks as if Naruto is planning on making me faint. I also know that, deep inside, I secretly really, really want him to do it—to make me all hot and bothered and especially involved, but I'm confused and a little frightened (though you'll have to mow me over with a lawnmower before you'll get me to confess that) and don't think we should go that far.

Not… that… far…

"Hey, if you two are done sucking face, do you mind moving over?"

I am saved.

Naruto breaks off to look back at a very familiar black-dressed teenager, annoyed. My face feels flushed (and probably is) and I swear I see stars. I bite my tongue to keep myself from collapsing backwards and face my saviors.

"Sasuke, you bastard—what are you doing here?! I told you not to follow me here!"

"Hey, I didn't want to come," Sasuke smirks and puts his hands up in a mock-innocent manner. His tone and smirk suggests humor, though his body language and eyes say otherwise. It hurts. I mean, it hurts for him to see Naruto with me. If I was any other person, I might have felt sympathetic and go through a phase of self-doubt, but I am not any other person.

I am me.

And I am feeling a slight tug of possessiveness creep into my heart.

I glare at Sasuke and he raises his eyebrows.

"Then why'd you come?" Naruto is still shouting, face contorted in anger. He reminds me of a hissy cat, fur on end and tail zigzagging upwards. An orange hissy cat. Ha. I am the king of stray thoughts. If anyone ever goes off-topic more then I do in the course of the day's thinking, call me.

"I told him to come with me."

Naruto whirls to face Neji, whose arms are crossed, face is blank and lips are pursed. Before he continues talking, however, he shoots me a quick "you-go-boy" look with a quick wink. I blush and then mentally berate myself for doing so.

"I was… horrified… when I heard from Sasuke that Gaara had decided to skip school. Obviously, my first thought was that you had persuaded for him to skip, and sure enough, by lunch you weren't there." He slowly uncrosses his arms, and moves to take a stick of gum from his pocket, putting in his mouth, "And before you ask why we're here, it's lunch break right now."

Naruto opens his mouth, but Sasuke overrides him.

"I said move over, dobe."

Grumbling, Naruto shifts his (cute, not meticulously tiny yet adorable—oh, not-God, I can't believe I thought that… I must be reading too much of Temari's romance novels) butt over and the Uchiha takes, with an "I-belong-here-and-you-do-not" haughtiness, his seat next to the blonde. I immediately move to make room for Neji, who doesn't take up much space anyway.

"C'mon! Sasuke, I told you we'd be—you were supposed to—I can't believe you'd—argh! You guys weren't supposed to interrupt!" Naruto grumbles, head in hands. "We were just getting to the good part, too!"

"The 'good part'?" Neji inquires, raising an amused brow in my direction and I give me a slight wrinkle of my nose in response. Whatever, Hyuuga.

Speaking of whom, I really had to update him on my new revelations on my past. It really wouldn't be fair to him otherwise. He is my best friend, after all.

"So?" Neji continues as he stares at Sasuke and then to me. "I heard from our little black-clad friend that he and Naruto had planned some sort of wicked scheme today, and I had decided to come and see for myself."

He gives an evil Greater-than-thou Hyuuga chuckle which I swear I've heard his cousin Hinata emit before (in which it involved Sakura, a can of tuna, and whipped cream) and sends shivers up my spine (which I will never admit… even after you've mowed me with a lawnmower, drowned me in a tub, put my out to dry on a clothesline and told Temari I'd actually stolen her tampons when I was younger because Kankuro claimed that they had some sort of magic powers that cured bloody noses). Ugh.

Naruto then chooses this time to very distractingly change the subject: "Guys, guys, now that you've interrupted our time," Our time? My face flushes, "let's talk about something else, okay? Hey, you got your choker back."

"Lee had it," Neji says matter-of-factly with a brief rolling of his eyes, cool and composed and absolutely apathetic of the reign of terror he had supposedly bestowed upon poor Konoha High when he couldn't find the damn thing. "He noticed how dirty it had gotten, had Hinata steal it, and went to go wash it for me." His eyes grow softer, "Idiotic, but sweet."

Sasuke, Naruto and I exchange "Oh my lord, he's going ga-ga again" looks but keep quiet.

The next twenty minutes went by with our regular talk—the battle of the bands tomorrow, Neji choosing his college, the rest of us sending in our application forms—avoiding the topic of me, Naruto and my first-time-ever play-hooky. I prefer it that way.

In fact, the entire time my sub-conscious mind made short, possibly witty (me? Witty? Ha.) comments, my layers and layers of schizophrenic-induced mind levels whirled and thought and turned, making connections and breaking them.

Sure, I didn't really get to say what I want to Yashamaru. My mouth had frozen up and I probably looked extremely silly, face contorted with varying emotions while I attempted to spit out whatever my mind could process in that short split second I had while Mom had waited for me. I decide.

It doesn't matter.

I don't care.

I don't care if Mom had tried to kill me and I had tried to kill him and I had killed many other such people in the following years. I don't care if I had felt crushed and alone when Baki had left and never told him or anyone else—kept it inside myself, buried it in a mound of self-angst. I don't care if Itachi likes to grope me or if Kankuro is a jerk-yet-not-a-jerk or if Temari's an overprotective sister who just recently decided to date Shikamaru again or if Kiba and Hinata are now dating each other due to Neji's wonderful sense of match-making—

I just don't care.

Strangely, I feel a certain warm bubbly feeling start to rise from that pit in my stomach. A nice, warm bubbly feeling. I can get used to it. I don't care. Why?

I have a family. I have a (maybe?!) boyfriend. I have a flawed yet sweet set of friends that care about my well-being. I have people that cared about me.

Hell, I have a company that's going to be soon underneath my fingers. Good lord.

"Hey, Gaara, are you okay?" I snap out of twenty minute train-of-thought, staring blankly at Neji.

I think about the question. I think about the answer.

Am I okay? Am I truly, in all senses, all right with myself and others and everything that has been happening?

I am relieved. I am comfortable with myself, even with my murderous past and schizophrenia that refuses to go away. I am oddly content to stay apathetic to my confusion. Is that okay? Is that alright?

"…yeah," I murmur to myself as I take another sip from my milkshake, "I think I'm pretty damn okay."

Neji's eyebrows immediately shoot upwards, and Naruto rewards me with a gentle tickle from his foot. I consider leaving it be, but decide it really wouldn't hurt me to try and have some fun once in my life.

Fun.

What a free and liberating word.

"Neji," I say with a small smile on my face as I attack the blonde sitting across from me with my sandals of doom.

"Yes?"

I manage to remove my foot from the sandal and very teasingly start to slip it up Naruto's pants. He lets out a growling noise and moves to try and put his own foot up my pants, in which I very skillfully block his every move. Metaphoric, I know. His eyes are playful, though—warm, blue, clear and somehow like the sun.

"Do you have some gum?"

Just like the time I first saw him.

AN: OMG I'm sorry I haven't updated in, like, four months! dies and gets shot Well, what have I been doing all this time? Writing this 30+ page chapter of DOOM! For more rantings, go to the next (and last) chapter! That's right. It's FINISHED! I am not lying. Now, go--click that " >" button. You know you want to.