Chapter Title: 'Clean Sheets'
Belonging To: 'Conscious Dreaming'
Author: MissYamapiKara
Genre: Drama, Romance, Science Fiction
Warnings: Struggling-writing flavoured
Rating: T
Base: 'Naruto' by Masashi Kishimoto
Chapter Summary: Yokohama Tech-Con. Will they meet, or won't they?
Chapter Soundtrack: 'Historypeats' Mad At Gravity

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over the manga, anime or other variations of what I know as 'Naruto'. I am gaining no profit from this piece.
I have no intimate connection to mentioned established institutes/universities/brands/other names that may be used in this story.
I do not claim ownership over the songs named above.
All material other than the above-mentioned is claimed as the sole property of myself.

Heads Up: If necessary, action will be taken to protect my own writing. It would be greatly appreciated if fellow avid writers, all readers or general persons would respect the content of this document and not copy it. If it is desired by anyone to use any part of the text on the page, I would bid him or her to contact me and it shall be discussed.

MissYamapiKara

Author's Note: This time, I want to use this space to reply to Michiru, a reviewer who left an awesome review. First of all thankyou so much for sharing your thoughts! As far as the writing style goes, I'm sure it's not just you who has that opinion. I see exactly what you mean and I understand. I'm glad you see what I'm trying to do with it and I have tried to make it a little smoother in chapter 7. Lastly, character personality: I'm glad you picked up on the difference between the 'Naruto'-verse and that in this story. It was my intention to show the characters as slightly different to emphasise the change in environment and its effect on personalities. I'm excited that you're thinking about the story! I hope you keep with the fic, since I expect that the next chapter will be the last.. dundundu~n Oh, and in this chapter, the "-----" in the fourth block was done to make it (hopefully) easier to discern p.o.v.; I just realised there's no 'left align' option in this publisher. droop

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who made it possible for 'Historypeats', performed by Mad at Gravity, to reach my ears.

Proceeding...

Conscious Dreaming

-

: Clean Sheets

-

"You are nothing more than a memory to me."

"I said I'm never going to let you go!"

He had finished writing the speech as well as his sundry other tasks the day before, and was now walking through the convention centre's public gardens. They were more fragrant than beautiful, but comforting all the same. The one he was in, he'd entered via the reception room; it opened onto a white-stone patio with evergreen hedges and a few small patches of wild flowers. Hanging baskets on the terrace provided the sweet scents. The garden had a path down to ground level, which he followed, and found himself in the first garden's counterpart: identical in every way except boasting a tremendously ornate marble fountain. Something about its musical sound calmed him and though he would still rather not stand and talk in front of a hall of people, he was no longer afraid.

'This is a nice place.' He wasn't tired; rather ready to get the show on the road. He thought for a moment that the garden was somehow important in making him feel so much better.

'Who knows, maybe this'll be fun.'

After thinking it over, he'd decided to use the tickets he'd been given, though he would bypass the suggestion of taking a friend with him. The trip had been quiet and his accommodation pleased him, but the stagnant feeling that had stayed with him for the past months was yet to be affected. The convention hall was open to ticket holders during the set-up days, these being the times that offered unique insight into any one enterprise's organisation.

'I'll check out the grounds, see where the groups are setting up.' It was still a day before the companies would make their addresses and introductions to the con-goers, after which exhibitions would open. He wanted to map out the place a bit so he'd be prepared in the crowds of tomorrow.

'Maybe it won't be so bad.'

He has arrived at the hall and is walking through the rooms, appreciating the hard work around him. But he suddenly feels a little stifled and is wondering how to get to the outside. His dark eyes scan the routes as he stands still momentarily. He sees the way and starts walking again.

-----The programmer is still in the garden right now. He's appreciating the serenity of it and feels loathe to leave it though he knows he should be helping out with the last preparations.

The student is almost to the reception room now; he can see the door that leads outside and can't wait for the fresh air.

-----His conscience tells him to go inside and find his co-workers.

His feet fall faster, one after the other. There's something that's drawing him to the door.

-----'Yeah, I'll go find them.' He concedes to return to work and turns back to the doors.

He's at the door, turning the handle.

-----He's still a couple of steps from the threshold.

But he stops, feeling a familiar uncertainty. He's scared to go further.

-----He has reached the doors leading into the dining room and is out of sight.

They've missed each other by only seconds.

The convention was ready to pick up the next day. Those involved were encouraged to get a goodnight's sleep.

For two individuals in particular however, their respective nights contained nothing but black. Dreamless, fearless, emotionless sleep, that brought anticipation to lay in-wait in the hollows of their bodies.

On waking, each felt oddly rested, grounded, but unreal all at once.

... All I know is fading

Anxiously awaiting ...

The AdvanceTech group was called to the stage and introduced member by member.

He felt fine. He was ready.

It was almost as if his fear had disappeared. As he stepped to the microphone, his blue eyes shone with determination.

... Furtively frustrating ...

He had wanted to arrive late, planning on listening to only a few speeches. But as he walked into the hall unnoticed, he suddenly wanted to turn and run.

The blood in his ears told him he'd entered into somewhere dangerous.

.. Endlessly parading

down.

Although he couldn't properly hear his own voice, he knew he was speaking strongly. It was a short-lived strength though, for he soon sensed something creeping into his heart, his head, his fingers as they crinkled the pages in front of him.

The stillness he'd known for too long was stirring.

.. All I feel is falling

Clutching sky but stalling ..

The walls were melting together around him.

That voice. Like he'd fallen from somewhere high up, his stomach lurched and he started to sweat. He knew that voice.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the stage.

.. When the past comes calling

Everything stopped. His words were stolen; his blood was frozen; it all just stopped.

He was looking to the back of the hall. He could see the face clearly.

The black eyes, the dark hair.

Will it seem appalling now?

He had to do it - his eyes moved up.

And he panicked. The silence exploded when he crashed back through the hall's doors and fled.

… Memory fades

from black to grey shades

Born to be broken ...

-and grabs the back of his neck.

… Historypeats

Flows through clean sheets

Born to be broken ...

It pulls him down so fast he doesn't have time to think.

But he feels the bruising clash and the hot warmth on his lips – the painful crash of teeth on teeth.

He can't see because he's closed his eyes but knows what's happening and can't bear to stop it. Even if it's a trick, some sort of illusion, he'll take it over the reality.

If not with the man under him, he won't go home again.

The hand on his neck hasn't moved, it's still holding tightly. The other he feels on his back, almost tearing his jacket in its nails.

With the sounds he hears he knows the other is sitting up – crunching leaves and shuffling dirt. As he's overpowered, he feels the coldness of the forest floor seep through his clothes and freeze his back.

Still, he won't open his eyes.

If he had, he would have seen that the other wouldn't open his either.

Though their positions are now switched they haven't once parted. As if existing as one thing, their mouths can't be persuaded to lose hold and their hands can do nothing but grasp each other's sleeves.

But he knows this has to end now. And even as the tears are burning down his ever more pale cheeks for the first time in too many years, he's twisting his hand to the front of his pursuer's throat.

And he's starting to squeeze.

The one on the ground finally opens his eyes when he feels something like molten iron on his jaw and tastes hot salt on his tongue.

The one above him sharply turns his head away.

Then he feels the pressure on his throat.

"You're crying."

Silence.

He can't see the dark eyes because they still haven't opened and their owner is facing away.

"I can't believe you're crying." He says it emotionlessly because he isn't really feeling anything describable.

The trees at the fringes of his vision are getting darker than the rest of the forest above him.

"I never thought," and here he chokes, "I'd see you cry."

"Shut up." It's not more than a forced whisper.

Blue eyes are becoming cloudy, "At least," his head leans back as the hand around his throat tightens, "you gotta know-"

"Shut up." Perhaps the air had breathed it.

It's just seconds before he won't see, hear or feel for hours thereafter. The other hadn't looked at him again, so the last of him he saw was his hanging head and controlled assassin arm.

Black eyes don't turn back; he doesn't want anything in his memory other than the feeling which he had once vowed never to give in to.

He leaves.

The forest is as quiet as an empty cathedral. The darkness hangs heavily. Nothing moves in solemn respect to the unending war that has just been fought here.

When he wakes up, he'll be alone again.

… Will you remember, this? ...