Thank you for your support, guys.

Chapter Summary: Naruto just doesn't give up. Gaara has a lot to think about, and it's not all pretty.

Warnings: this chapter dwels into some PTSD stuff, blood.

Hot and Cold

Fridays were more peaceful than other days at school. They got longer breaks, and Naruto had more time to spend them with his circle of friends. He usually chose to go with Shikamaru on the rooftop to watch him play shogi with himself. Strategical planning, the raven would say. Naruto couldn't understand the appeal but he indulged his friend by sitting with him in front of the board. Today they also had Sakura with them, but she was quick to announce that she was not to be disturbed until she finished the chapter on Vascular system in her biology book.

After a few failed attempts to understand the meaning of the moving pieces in Shikamaru's board, Naruto sighed and leaned against the railing, chosing to look down below to the school's garden. His eyes sparked in delight when he saw a familiar presence walking by. Jumping on his feet, the blond grabbed onto the railing with one hand and pushed himself upwards as he called out to the redhead with a wave. "Oi! Gaara!" He watched as his classmate's steps faltered and then seemed to resume in a much faster rate.

Pouting at being ignored, Naruto thought of a quick way to take the redhead's attention, when his ears picked upon the sound of pieces being moved on the board. He turned to snatch one piece, ignoring Shikamaru's indignant protest, and then aimed it at the redhead's general direction.

Holding his breath, he waited for the piece to reach its destination, and just as it was a mere centimeter's way from colliding with the redhead's head, a hand swipped it out of the way, the piece falling down on the ground.

Naruto's eyes sparked with adoration as he watched the redhead turn his way with a glare. "Gaara! Come join us!" he yelled out again, smilling brightly.

"Oi, oi," Shikamaru tried to get the blond's attention while tugging onto the orange suit's pant sleeve. "It'll only piss him off more, if you keep throwing things at him."

"It's fine, it's fine." Naruto waved him away dismissively. "It's the way we communicate."

"That's even more concerning…"

Chosing to ignore his friend's remark, Naruto leaned onto the railing as he watched the redhead's back disappear inside the building, dissapointment filling him at yet another failed attempt of starting a conversation with his classmate. He already tried to pester him at every break, or stalk him to the cafeteria, but the redhead seemed to find ways to disappear before Naruto could catch him. He had way more stealth than Naruto who was a pretty straight-forward person. He wanted Gaara to be his friend, so he went for it.

"Naruto."

"Hm?"

"It's not my business, really, but you sure you know what you're doing?" Shikamaru asked, his hand stilling with a piece on the board. "That kid is weird. And the rumours flying around about him are all involving violence. And I mean real, broken bones kind of violence. Perhaps he's not the best choice to-"

"I don't care about that," Naruto cut him off, not wanting to hear more, his back stiff. "Gaara is Gaara."

"Even if he has a monstrous strength?"

"Heh, I've met real monsters. Gaara is nothing even close to it."

"Naru-"

"Leave it, Shikamaru."

While he understood his friend's concern, Naruto didn't like hearing people badmouthing Gaara. Contrary to the popular belief, he was aware of the things people whispered behind the redhead's back and it frustrated the blond. Mostly because he understood exactly what it felt like being at the spotlight of a hostile attention. "Gaara is my friend," he then said, waiting for the raven to try to contradict him. Though his heart raced a little, he counted on Shikamaru to not get involved.

He didn't disappoint.

"Well," the raven started, scratching on the back of his ponytail."This is too much of a drag to think about. So, I'll leave it to you."

"Ah, I knew you'd understand, Shikamaru!" the blond shouted out before jumping his friend. All Shikamaru's attempts at prying Naruto off of him were spent in vain. After a while he just gave up. "You still need to find my piece, the one you threw away," he said with a sigh, as he resigned to his fate of being clung on by the blond.

"Oi, did you hear me?"

The low snickering was all the answer he got.

He was having a headache.

Every time that shrilling voice called out to him, it felt like a pack of needles piercing his skull. The blond was annoying. Also way too stubborn; no matter how many death glares he sent his way, it only bounced back in double. He resorted to leaving a few seconds quicker before anyone else and rushing to somewhere quiet. But even then, he couldn't help watching over his shoulder, expecting the loud lump of orange to come flying out of the sky. The school no longer felt safe for him.

The latest attempt of Naruto's didn't amuse him in the least. He could tell it was the blond's not so subtle way of reminding Gaara of their first meeting.

He wished they never did.

As he stared at the bold writing on the shogi piece in his palm, he had to wonder why it was still with him.

"Gaara…"

Temari. Leaning against the wall, his sister looked him over, before stopping to stare for a prolonged moment at his palm. Feeling suddenly conscious about it, Gaara quickly chuked the piece inside his pocket. "What?" he asked curtly.

While she didn't ask about the piece, he knew she wanted to. She shook her head. "Nothing, I'm just wondering if you're doing all right."

The unimpressed look he gave her, quickly made her avert her eyes. "I mean…with the anniversary of that day coming," she clarified.

Ah. So that what it was about. Suddenly it all made sense. He arranged his features back to being impassive. "You don't have to be concerned."

He didn't want to talk with her any longer. He made to pass her, but a hand blocked his path. The look he threw her wasn't kind. "Are you sure you're handling it well?" she asked, her eyes scanning his face. Like she could tell. It was laughable.

Never showing any interest in his well being, there would come a day every year where his siblings suddenly would remember his existence. They would wonder whether he was handling things well, while in truth their question was always the same – are you handling yourself well. More than getting involved with him, his whole family hated complications, and his complex past always possed a threat towards that.

While he was sure nobody was aware of just how badly his mental health had been impaired, they knew enough to ignore it when it suited them. They also worked a system where on that one day of the year, they would be extra careful around him, waiting like hawks for him to snap and do something to prove their fears right.

"What," he started, a cruel smirk playing on the corners of his lips. "Are you waiting to see blood?"

She froze. Her eyes widened as she took a step back. "Y-you… are you planning to?"

It shouldn't hurt. And most of the times it didn't. He learned to accept the inevitable reactions, but sometimes they just brushed him the wrong way and he craved to lash out more, getting into their heads more to prove the point further. That yes, he was as much of a monster as they thought of him.

He took a step forward. She took one back. One forward. One back. She led her like that until her soles hit the edge of the stairs and she unbalanced, flailing and began to fall. He caught her by the front of her shirt.

Even then, she looked scared. Terrified for her life. She was scared that he'd drop her down.

Clenching his teeth together, he pulled her back and threw her a little, letting her slide down the floor. Watching her tremble, he turned, his feet leading him downstairs. "Don't get in my way. You'll get hurt."

His head was spinning.

White stinging pain hit his skull as he stumbled down the shadowed hallways. He could smell the fear; his, his victim's – wide eyes staring at him as blood splashed on him from above.

His side hit the wall as he clutched his head. He knew the upcoming of the day would likely trigger him to relive his most painful memories of the past, but the encounter with his sister unlached that lid ahead of time, before he could mentally prepare himself, and he felt overwhelmed with the flashes as they continued to assault his mind. "Argh," he panted and felt himself fall to his knees.

You were never loved. It was all your fault. Gaara – the name of the monster who only loved himself.

"Stop it. Stop it. No more," he chanted aloud as he willed the memories to receed.

Then he heard them. People approaching. The casual laughter. People having fun. Friends. He didn't want to see them. He wished for them to disappear. He could feel himself itching to throw himself at them to see what would happen. And he knew what would happen. He would tear at them. Make them bleed. And they would shout and yell and punch him and he would feel nothing but the unbearable need to make the voices in his head stop, to make the monster in his head stop.

He forced himself to stand on shaky legs. Little steps. Before they reached him. Before it was too late. He blindly searched for the handle of the bathroom, his one hand still clutching at the side of his face where the pain was coming from, but before he could open it, the doors opened on their own. A person. They were speaking to him but he couldn't hear them from the roaring in his head. "Leave," he ordered with enough vehemence in his voice for the person to scurry away in a hurry.

Finally alone, he stumbled towards the sink. His reflection in the mirror told him that he scratched himself where his tatoo resided on his forehead. The red ink was now covered in dried blood. It was fitting.

Another wave of images sent him grabbing onto the edges of the sink. He heaved, but nothing came out but warm air and saliva. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat and he knew it wouldn't stop. With shaky hands he tried to find his sedatives, but in his hurry they scattered all over the sink and as he picked one brown pastel, he couldn't help the defeated chuckle escape his mouth. They wouldn't do him any good anyway.

Because you're no good.

The voice stung his head again and as his eyes locked with the glased teals in the mirror he begged for the pain to stop. Just make it stop. Finally set him free of it.

In a fit of rage and frustration he pulled back his fist and sent it flying towards the mirror. The glass shattered and fell in the sink, and the cuts in his hand finally gave him the ache he needed.

The voices disappeared.

Naruto wasn't having much look. Elbows deep in the trash bin, he was yet to grab the lone shogi piece, which he was sure had to be somewhere in the bin as it was nowhere on the ground. He tried asking people but others just laughed at him and stood around to watch the spectacle. "Agh, come on!" Motivating himself with images of hot pots of ramen he would be getting as soon as he was done with his search, he rummaged through the trash with a new sense of purpose.

"Come on, don't be like that. It's just a twenty."

Distant voices coming from the corner of the building momentary piqued his interest while his hands absentmindedly continued to work.

"I-I don't have any…" a meek voice said, followed by a bang. "Ah? Don't lie, you little shrimp."

He took one second to ponder about the possibility of not getting involved, but as soon as the meek voice begged not to be hurt he was flying head first into the bully's side, punching him square in the face before he could realize what hit him.

"What the hell!?" the outraged yells only spured him on further. "Stop picking on the weak, you bastards!" Naruto yelled out while pointing in their general direction.

"It's none of your goddamn business," a bulky one said, an unpleasant epression on his had to gulp. While the element of surprise worked in his favor, he was clearly in a disatvantage against a couple of mucled jerks. Still, he clenched his fist and told the meek guy to run while he could as it would soon turn into a blood bath.

It did.

And at the end of it he was sitting on the ground with bruises all over his body, and a split lip. "Awch," he hisses as his fingers picked on the wound. "What the hell am I doing?" he pondered to nobody in particular. He tilted his head to watch over the passing by clouds. It was a nice day. Would have been nicer if moving a finger wasn't such a difficult task.

It must have been around dusk when he finally decided to get his ass up from the cold ground and gather his stuff to go home. He slumped towards his locker, leaning heavily on it while he adjusted the combination. It clicked, the locker opened and he froze in place. He blinked a few times, then brushed his eyes to clear his vision, but the image ahead didn't change. With careful fingers he picked a bandaid packet and just couldn't help laughing, pain all but fogotten. "What the hell, that's just too cute," he muttered to himself, a lone shogi piece watching him from the locker.

to be continued...