Author Note: Yep, another one. :D I like writing this--it's so much fun! Thanks to all who've read my work so far! So read on down, and let's see what happens...I have a strange feeling some shounen-ai goodness is coming up!

Six. A Storm of Our Own

Kankuro

I smiled. He recognized my voice. Not that I was happy to see him—I definitely wasn't. Of all the shinobi in Konaha, they had to send Squad Eight.

I growled low, waiting to see what he would do next. "I'd better believe it? You're the ones who look a bit unconvinced, Inuzuka."

Kiba turned towards me. His hair was standing on end, and every muscle in his body had tensed in a matter of seconds. His mutt, too, was displaying the same fierce action.

I could see my two reinforcement Jounin Gaara had given me were actually paying attention. Ten to one said they were hoping I'd die.

The Hyuuga girl whispered something to the Aubrame shinobi next to her. His answer was simple. "Allergies."

The girl looked surprised for a moment, glancing back and forth from Kiba to me to Kiba again. "Oh," she exclaimed.

Kiba turned to his friends. "Not allergies," he hissed. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Shino."

"You keep telling yourself that."

I stood there and watched them bicker. A thought was forming in the back of my mind: this was all Gaara's fault. I couldn't help but think that Gaara had talked to the Hokage—that he had known that she'd be sending them, and he still sent me anyway. Maybe he was punishing me for being a horrible sibling. As strange as my blaming Gaara sounded, the thought just wouldn't leave my head.

Gaara had done this to me.

I stretched my arms, yawning. "What's for dinner, Mr. Mizuki?" I asked.

Mizuki grinned. "I was hoping you'd ask," he said, going into a full-out discussion of our dinner menu. I had a feeling that what he'd really been hoping was for my fight with Kiba to blow over before it elevated into something bigger. Lucky for him, it had. This time.

Next time was a different story.

Six days later, we'd captured no enemies, solved no problems, and Kiba and I continued to fight like cats and dogs. Every night it was something different. I hated the way Kiba ate, without using his utensils; he hated how I talked in my sleep; Karasu took up too much space in our room; Akamaru never ceased to get in my way.

And so it continued, on and on.

But the fights weren't the worst part. What was worse was that the feeling kept creeping back into my stomach. It would sit there, simmering during dinner, until finally it would shoot up my spine and make me go rigid. Even during my visits to outskirts of the village it still followed me, eternally settling inside my stomach.

And, on those frequent visits to the outskirts of the village, I couldn't stop thinking about Kiba. I constantly replay our fights in my head, over and over, thinking about his face, his shape, his voice. I'd see a sight on the street and wondered what he'd think of it. I made a thousand conversations up with him in my head, in all of which we were friends. Maybe more than friends, if I cared to think that far.

Either way, this whole animosity between us was my fault. I was the one who had decided that I didn't want anything between us. So I had used my attitude to make a crevice that separated us, preventing us from getting too close to each other, even though I wanted to be so much closer than we ever had been.

But what was I afraid of? That I might actually like Kiba, perhaps past the point of friends? That I was getting attached to someone who wasn't a member of my family, or even my village? That I might like someone of my own gender that way?

As I thought about the last question, I realized that it didn't matter to me. All the times I'd thought of Kiba, and not once had that thought barred my mind. Being one way or the other made no difference to me. It just…was. Maybe I wasn't as afraid as I thought.

Still, I like to be in control of situations. I was not in control of this one. Kiba was pulling the strings now. Every glare, every word, every angry snarl—they all piled onto of me. I was buried alive, and there was no way out. Worst of all, I still had no idea if he even felt remotely close to the way I did. And I hate not knowing things.

And I didn't want to get attached. People get angry, they get scared, they die. People leave. Did I want to care for someone to the point where it mattered to me if they lived or died? Stayed or left?

To care for Temari and Gaara was one thing. They were my family—I almost had to love them, even if they treated me like dirt.

To care for Kiba was another. He wasn't attached to me in anyway. He would be able to leave me at any time, without any warning. And he would have the choice to never come back.

And that, I realized, truly scared me most—that he would never come back. That he would want to leave me.

I would be left alone.

I slipped back into the house later, not wanting to wake any of the guests. I had made my decision a few hours earlier—now it was time to put my plan into action.

The rain had begun to drizzle outside, and it was picking up speed by the second. Soon it would be an all-out storm.

I shuffled over to Kiba's spot on the floor and gently pushed his shoulder.

He groaned and rolled over, blinking wearily. "Kankuro…?"

"You can tell?" I asked. The room was nearly pitch-black—it was hard for even me to see.

"I can see the outline of your hood against the window," he said. He lay back down and was silent for a bit. Then he sat up quickly, almost as if remembering our hostility. "Why are you waking me at this hour?" he hissed.

I pulled at his arm. "Outside. Now. It's an emergency."

Kiba stood up and pulled on a t-shirt before gently shaking his dog. "Wake up, boy. We have to go now."

Akamaru whined. Maybe he knew what my real intentions were. Dogs are smart like that.

Kiba rubbed his eyes as we stumbled outside into the pouring rain. "Aggh," he mumbled. "It's fricking raining out. Have you been drinking or something, Kankuro?"

I pulled him off into a side alley between our house and the house next door and removed my hood. I shoved it into my pocket.

The rain was covering both of us, soaking us to the bone. Kiba's sleep-mussed hair was flattened completely, except for where the moisture made it stick up in a few odd places. Streaks of purple water rolled off my cheeks into my hands. My face paint was washing off.

Kiba leaned against one of the tight walls of the alley, as though he was hoping to get out of the rain. "What the hell am I standing in the rain for?" he growled. "You said this was an emergency."

"It is." We stood in silence a little bit longer. Akamaru began to whine again.

Kiba cocked his head. "Well?"

I couldn't speak—I could only move. I placed one hand on Kiba's shoulder, feeling warm skin through freezing wet fabric. My other hand curled behind his head. He didn't shy away, so I pulled him closer. Breathe passed between us. Kiba looked intrigued.

"Emergency?" he whispered. His lips were nearly toughing mine now.

"Damn," I murmured.

And that was when I kissed him.