Notes: This idea was bouncing around, literally eating me up inside. I had to write it. I won't be abandoning my other in-progress story, Tatties and Ink, so just consider this as a... side-along project. I'm sure simultaneous stories won't kill me! ...Right? It's rated for language at the moment (these boys swear an awful lot), and the rating will go up for... later scenes :eyebrow wiggle:

I really hope you enjoy this. I am truly excited about this idea, and I have done the right thing this time and planned before I posted. There will be 11 chapters, but because they will be jam-packed with stuff, they will be both enormous, and probably a long time in coming. I'm setting myself a minimum of 13 Word document pages, which is about 10,000 words each time. MINIMUM.

So, without further ado: please delve into the story. Flamers, flame if you... feel the need. Plagiarisers: don't steal this. I worked long and hard on it, and you would gain nothing from it.
Constructive criticism always welcome!

Disclaimer: I am in no way shape or form the owner, maker or inventor of Naruto. Why? Because then they'd all be gay, and Neji and Gaara would dominate the episodes. :shrugs:

Chapter 1
Hold It Together

Pale petals imbued the air with the faint fragrance of honey and pear. A few pearlescent beads of dew adorned the slender veins of the moon-white, deep-bellied lillies which drifted like peaceable spirits over the slight eddies of the water. The courtyard was a splendorous affair; a charming horseshoe of white gold marble in the shape of a crescent moon. Slender, waiflike forms danced in supple motions on bare and dainty feet around the glistening azure pool in its heart; lilting laughter tinkling in the air like precious, transient jewels from the willowy throats. Occasionally, a small flurry of softness would drift from their elegant forms – long and sensuously silken; tapered on the ends into cottony rapiers. Lesser beings would dart forth, cherub faces curved in complete adoration, to catch these loose heavenly treasures in tiny, child-like hands and respectfully remove them from the unblemished air.

Other beings drifted in an ethereal peacefulness from the exquisite building framing the outer edge of the courtyard - the masterfully wrought golden pillars leading into a shaded plaza whose mottled flooring was flecked with thin webs of an indeterminable glimmering copper. Huge gleaming archways admitted entrance into the airy building, through which plush chaise-longues in brilliant, unearthly shades of crimson and mauve were visible in the many niches of the vast space. Noble figures were draped over these in glorious natural poses, skin aglow in all manner of porcelain, cream, cappuccino and cocoa-black. Voices sweeter than the most beautiful of birdsong chimed and resonated in a fluid, unwavering throb, punctuated occasionally by the delightful trilling of alluring laughter.

Opposite the Greek palace, where the narrowing points of the crescent didn't fully meet, the view was unobstructed. The aqua waters of the tear-shaped pool met the edge of the courtyard and plunged over the dizzying precipice, the indistinguishable diamond drops tumbling in serene acceptance through the yielding air, catching the sunlight and throwing an awe-inspiring mile long rainbow through the sky. The distance they fell was undecided – an immeasurable way down the water joined the indeterminable cerulean blanket that stretched to caress the horizon on every side. Falling at such speed, the water froze as it traversed the enormous distance to join its ancestor element, merging with the gargantuan opalescent gem that was known as Caelum. There were countless other names for it, stretching back into a past so distant that few could remember the blurred images that randomly made it back across its yawning gap of time. The basic knowledge about it was never lost though: it was the Divider. The One-Way pass. The Eyme floated above it, a nearly invisible dust speck from that incredible a distance. The Eyme itself was a monumental structure, worlds across, and as flat as the infant race once thought their own earth was. The great palace, the most tranquil and unchanging a place, was an abode of rest and leisure; always open to any spirit or embodied soul. But its glistening and bright-eyed beauty still carried an undercurrent of woeful lamentations. For it was here, in the Sun Temple, that resided the single and only doorway from the ancient and beautiful land. And it was to here that the to-be Fallen were taken.

XXX

His chest rose and fell in a deliberate calm and his plush and moist lips deigned not to quiver. The faces around him were solemn and regretful; passionate sadness arching their shaped brows in despondency over grief-filled eyes. Two slim, familiar figures shivered in the arms of a heart-breakingly recognisable face – a face that was downcast so that light eyes were hidden under the fall of hair. The trio crouched aside from the small ensemble, and a single figure broke from the silent throng to approach the solitary man, who diverted his gaze away from them. The approaching one raised a hand and slid it through wondrously sleek, choppy hair, before he walked closer to the other.

"You chose a bad day to Fall," he said sombrely, biting sarcasm for once absent from the smooth tones. A breeze tinged with apples drifted through them, lifting a few waist-length tendrils of rich soil coloured hair and playing with the shorter raven locks.

"And why is that, brother?" The husky maple voice replied, lightly injecting humour into the conversation even as the slanted eyes over the lips forming the amused words remained austere and sober.

The other man avoided the resigned eyes in order to look out over the drop, unable to quite conceal the slight wince across his features. "The wind is blowing, brother," he replied tellingly, raising an arm with the palm pointing upwards. A stronger gust swirled down the full-length sleeve, tugging at the fabric and whirling through the white fingers until it was pulled as though in a vacuum over the edge along with the water.

"Indeed," was the quietly rueful reply, "That is certainly most unfortunate."

Onyx eyes quickly darted over and scrutinised the impassive face as it was turned away from him, running along the planes of the sculpted cheeks. "You would appear to be in high spirits, brother."

The full extent of the rich, creamy skin was displayed as the man turned back to him. "Appear being the key word in that sentence, brother."

"Sasuke," came the beckoning call in a voice like a honey-glazed razor. The short-haired man turned with a rustle to look into similar ebony eyes. A look of understanding flashed between them, and then it was with an expressionless mask on that he turned to pass on his final farewells.

"I only hope we meet again, brother."

"As do I."

"We may very well meet in Heaven."

The remark was rewarded by the momentary warming of glowing opal irises, which flashed brilliantly in the sunlight, before the unspoken laughter was gone from the face. "I should like that," was the quiet response. The other man inclined his head gently, and spun to walk with finality back to the small group, standing next the long-haired man who had hailed him. Another stepped forward in his place from his position at the fore of the crowd. Sun-kissed skin was crowned by a head of blazing golden hair, stronger than the vivid shafts of sunlight rippling over his tawny muscles and powerful physique. He approached the solitary man with pride and power resonating from each footstep, and as he neared the long-haired being, he stretched out a muscled arm and laid it across the other's shoulder.

"It is a sad day," he began, his voice as rich as life-giving earth and his eyes, which rivalled the aqua ocean above them, alive with strife and sorrow; "When one of our own should fall. And I never thought I would be saying these things to you." The proud man sucked in a wide lungful of air as if to inflate himself again from where his shoulders had caved a fraction. "Therefore, instead of having the cherubs do it… I shall bind you."

A heavy sigh of wind sent flurries of dark chocolate hair flying, and in the sunlight they burst into a giddy display of shades – golden and amber, bright auburn and a gleam of copper set off by the dark, thick melted cocoa and rich wet soil. The locks settled from their dance with a sad limpness as the breeze moved on, barely moving as the head they belonged to bent in acknowledgement. In response to the allowance, the dominating figure of the golden-haired man walked around his unmoving companion. Sliding through his fingers was the supple length of intricately woven metal – as fine and delicate as a maiden's interlacing fingers, and yet stronger than any physically wrought armour of steel. Working with an inhuman speed and precision, the thin gold band wove once – twice – thrice times around the huge lustrous limbs, and then slipped around the hard abdomen – robed only in a light cream tunic, to fuse together with a bright light as it adjoined the rest.

His work done, the powerful man took a step back, a look of unimaginable sadness in his deep eyes. Behind him, the rest of the onlookers observed with similar grief written across their faces. It was the most degrading and saddening thing to see – especially, as rarely as ever was the case, the victim was undeserving.

A small step forwards, and the blonde man places both hands palm down on the bound man's shoulders. Sapphire eyes drilled into glazed pearl ones as he summoned up the strength to speak. "Young man," his rich tenor lamented, "Because you are still so young in the eyes of our vast lives, it brings me great sorry to have bound and restrained you like this." It was indeed an unusual speech to be spoken at a Falling, an uncharacteristic regret and sorrow which rebounded with clashing inevitability around the white pillars which honed the point of the open doorway in front of which the tied man was stood. Most speeches spoke of the sin or horror that had been committed to warrant such an action.

"But today-" …

But today was certainly a momentous occasion; one of the most unusual in the entire uncountable history of The Eyme. Today, the Falling speech was an improvisation.

"Today, you will Fall. Know that if the opportunity arises, if it ever does, the Caelum, the Divide, it will be opened and you shall be admitted without hesitation, without a Court held in consideration of your repentance. I pray-" Here the slightest tremor, like the quivering of a leaf on a still day, was briefly evident; "I pray that that day shall be swift in coming."

The unblinking blue eyes shuttered for a moment.

The long-haired man parted his lips. "Thank you… Lord Namikaze."

The man carried on around the pause. "A man of such noble birth, of such a noble disposition – Neji Hyuuga, I pray that your Fall be fleeting, and your stay even less so. I pray that you be with us again soon." He stood, and the glorious, sunbeam-yellow wings on his back shifted in distress at the sight of the brilliant diamond ones flaring from the other man's back, the sunlight rendering them almost translucent but for the lavender opaqueness clouding them, tightly restrained by the unbreakable golden chain. It seemed a sin for one to be bound in such a way, as the murmurings of disquiet coming from the group behind indicated. A high, brief keen rended the air, and every head turned to the inconsolable youngest Hyuuga as she clutched her older sister's trembling hands. His own brow furrowing in anguish, the bound Hyuuga took a half-step towards his cousins but went no further. He was a Fallen, and it was no longer in his right to do such a thing. The elder Hyuuga tightened his arms around them, and for a single half-second the two men's similar pale eyes met. The youngest turned away first. Guided by Lord Namikaze's arm, he took one step toward the sheer drop, and then another. When he was but a finger's breadth away, he turned to the blue-eyed lord, and hovered his hand over the other's forearm as if he were about to grasp it. "I pray too," he said lowly, in his satiny tone, the undercurrents of strain only barely roughening the husky shimmer of it, "For your son's health. When he awakes…" He paused, as if in pained contemplation, "Please make sure he doesn't blame himself."

Eyes pools of unreadable emotion, Lord Namikaze brought his other hand up and grasped he younger man's forearm in the mark of friendship. "I will allow you…" He tailed off softly in response, releasing the man's arm and taking a step back, wings unfurling slightly for balance.

The Hyuuga cast a glance over the edge, watching the rainbow glitter like an impossible aerial painting. He considered turning and saying one last goodbye as a whole, and then decided that a clean break would be easier on everyone. It would be too hard to turn back now. Instead, he raised his arms as if to offer an embrace and, allowing his toes to bend him forwards, dove through the air as gracefully as if he were merely taking flight.

He fell with blinding speed, his wings immediately trying to snap open to save his fall; yet they met with uncompromising resistance and remained tightly locked closed. The wind ripped away the nearly silent 'good luck Neji' from behind him as he fell with no control, occasionally entering the unbroken water stream and dousing his clothes and hair; moisture that was immediately pulled away from him by the powerful wind. He plummeted for about an hour, realising his friend's voiced concern as the wind, rather than following the direction of the water, instead buffeted his body and the cupped expanse of his wings, unbalancing him from his headlong fall. It was with sickening conviction that he realised the wind had torn him a little away from the waterfall and was holding him captive in a sidelong airstream away from it. Watching the gaping deep-blue hole, a stark anomaly against the bright turquoise gem, growing wider, Neji realised that he wasn't going to clear it unscathed. The hole grew from a pinprick to the size of a head, and finally the jagged edge of the one splinter in the unbreakable jewel came into view, the edge in line with Neji's line of vision. He struggled against the air harder, knowing all too well the awe-inspiring power of the element – but it was in vain. His eyes widened along with the Caelum's doorway, as he rushed towards it and it rushed just as eagerly up to him. Unable to watch it, Neji screwed his pale eyes up behind their lids of unblemished marble, just as his head burst the monotony of the continuous roaring that had been the only sound around him with a wet, sickening crunching. Agony exploded in his skull; pain the likes of which he'd never experienced before, and it was through half-parted, dimly fading eyes that he watched himself falling through the mile-thick gem's interior and out the other side, vaguely aware that the hole was healing itself after him. An overcast sky blurred into his vision, and then the clouds consumed him and everything faded into darkening grey.

A dull grey drizzle permeated the heavy air of the streets of Konohagakure; the sullen aftermath of a full blown storm. Hunched figures in shapeless waterproof skins slogged quickly through the wide puddles in the streets, clutching their sopping items in possessive claws. One figure peeled away from a straggling group of strangers, made a right turn, and then a left. It slowed in a driveway surrounded by red brick walls dyed the colour of dark clay under the water. A rusted metallic Peugeot skulked against the far wall; adjacent, and clearly more loved, was a misshapen shape under a crisp motorbike cover which fended off the rain. Digging deep into a dripping pocket, the figure dug out a key hanging off an unadorned ring and let itself in. In the stagnant warmth, the anorak was shed, secreting water into a bucket under the coat peg. The revealed shape moved through the darkness of the hall and into the first door on the right, flicking the switch. A towel was snagged off a sideboard and thrown over a head; mussed to soak the water. The man, for it was a man, finished towelling himself and dropped into a bar stool – a simplistically designed one with two oblong shaped steel bars topped by a hand-sanded slab of oak – and rested his head in his hands. The fabric slid over his head with a rustle to fold itself on the floor, and the glass chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling grasped the opportunity to illuminate the man's cherry-red hair. Glimmering jade eyes looked up to appraise the room with solemn blankness, a slender-fingered hand moving to rub his left temple. Under the short nails blazed a brilliant crimson tattoo.

The room was a pretty one by all standards. Tall and open plan, the kitchen unit was situated by the windows overlooking the damp drive. Light, softwood cabinets lined the wall in a peachy fawn shade, topped by a sleek terracotta granite surface. The identically styled island unit that the man sat upon drifted atop a wall-to-wall ocean of caramel floorboards. The kitchen, however, dominated a small portion compared to the rest of the room. The sitting area – centred around a rectangular rug in vivid and unearthly hues of lush green and sapphire blue, yellow brighter than sunshine and a brilliant fire red – was a hodgepodge of colour and shape. Mismatching sofas and armchairs were scattered on and around it in various states of use – one, an armchair of a luminescent sky blue, was surrounded by teetering stacks of paperbacks and half-filled notepads. A small TV set could be spotted at the head, towards which all the chairs pointed in a wobbly horseshoe, alongside a games console and DVD player. Pushed against the far window was a vinyl record player sitting on top of a coffee table, under which were a stack of records. Bookshelves lined the walls on either side; some filled with colourfully bound volumes and others a seemingly random selection of oddly shaped stones and shells. A corkboard hung above the window, featuring a multitude of different feathers held there by rainbow pins. Semi-translucent emerald curtains floated around the window, tenderly brushing the floor. They were a dainty addition to an eclectic array of colour.

BLEEP!

The redhead pulled his phone out of his back pocket with a small frown.

From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)
Message: GAARA, MY YOUTHFUL FRIEND! Tomorrow is Fete Day! I hope you have not forgotten, and I shall pick you up the crack of dawn so that we can start the day together in high spirits! :D

Gaara sighed and allowed himself a minute of meditative breathing before he tapped 'reply'.

From: Gaara
Message: Lee. Crack of dawn WILL NOT be necessary. The fete starts at 4:30pm. Come to mine for 3.

The reply came immediately.

From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)
Message: If you are insisting Gaara! I have spent my days doing as Gai Sensei has suggested! I no longer need crutches, even though it appears to be impossible for me to run as of yet (I have been doing handstand push-ups to make up for it though!), but I have managed to achieve in the two weeks I have been inactive, three bobble hats, four scarves, a patchwork blanket and matching jumpers for me and you to wear tomorrow! I shall bring them!

Gaara stared with nothing short of horror in his eyes.

From: Gaara
Message:Please don't.

BLEEP!

From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)
Message: Ah, short of words even in text, aren't we my green-eyed friend! No matter, even if you choose not to wear it tomorrow, you can most definitely save it for a rainy day! :D :D

From: Gaara
Message: I'm allergic to wool.

BLEEP!

From: Lee (ROCKS!1!)
Message: You are such a joker my friend! Ahahaha! But just in case this happened, I made sure to buy completely synthetic fibre wool! Gaara – I am sorry, but I must do at least a hundred one-handed handstand push-ups by bedtime! I shall see you bright and early tomorrow! X

The redhead stared, a little bemused, at the phone for another second, before he slipped it back into his pocket without bothering to reply that 3 o'clock in the afternoon did not constitute 'bright and early'. Heaving himself off of the oddly structured stool, he grabbed a couple of hand-painted chipped mugs off the drainer and deposited them in an overhead cupboard before he waded through the casual crowd of chairs. A metal spiral staircase in the far left corner led to a thin balcony hanging into the air above the eccentric living space. Gaara mounted the stairs and let himself into his room, weary eyes beginning to slide shut. He fumbled for the hanging switch, and as he yanked on it, glowing golden, blue and orange fairy lights lit up the walls of his room. He stumbled tiredly in, flicking switches as his trailing fingers brushed over them, setting a red lava lamp aglow, and another mosaic lamp that threw multi-coloured pink and green fractured light across his thick beige carpet. His bed glistened invitingly in the glowing halo of light, a four poster double with four thick mahogany beams rising to the ceiling. The posts Gaara carved himself: snarling wolves and dragons and the slight hint of maidenly curves twirling under the arm of hard, defined abdominals. Where he'd gotten bored of specific shapes the animals disintegrated into masterfully convoluted swirls and mazes, or else hand-carved knots in the otherwise knot-less wood. Unlike a normal four-poster, instead of a flat board closing off the top, the beams curved into a point over the centre of the mattress. Here, the redhead had hammered short, stout nails into the wood, holding layers and layers of shimmering fabric in place as it fell in unconscious natural grace around the sheer black quilt covers. Lee said it was princess-y. Gaara didn't care.

Stripping quickly of the black and green overalls of his workplace, the originally named 'Carl's Carpentry', Gaara shoved it all uncaringly into the partially open drawer of the ebony-coloured wooden wardrobe against the wall – unwilling to clutter up the floor. He swiped a wet-wipe over his face, washing away the kohl blackness around his eyelids, and with a surge of relief began to burrow through the layers of translucent silk to the fresh crispness of his bed covers. Sleep took him almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, memory-foam moulding lovingly around his flaring jawbone, bringing with it the soft, far-away dulcimer notes of insubstantial colour and reflection as dreams unfolded, revolutionary, in the young man's mind.

XXX

The Fete was cancelled.

Or so proclaimed the small red sign – laminated – one of many hanging at intervals along the gates to the park. Technically, as Gaara had pointed out to his friend – the same friend who was hanging off the opened gate looking desolately into the empty greenspace – it was only an arts and crafts gathering that happened annually in one of the few areas of greenery in Konoha. Why Lee was so gutted, the redhead had no idea, seeing as there was little that he could actually do there. Rolling his eyes quickly before his friend could turn around and see, he grabbed one green-clad arm and gave it a tug. Wide eyes wobbly with unshed tears turned to look mournfully at him.

"Lee," Gaara sighed, "Don't worry. It will be postponed; obviously the weather is too bad right now for the Fete to go ahead."

The pair startled as a languid crash of thunder resonated through the sky. Above the pointed tips of the ultra-modern buildings, swollen black clouds were beginning to hang low over the city, unabashedly showing their naked darkened bellies. A small, short sunbeam burst from somewhere, and the brief illumination lit up the surrounding skyscrapers. They glowed with a luminescent light, their sleekly designed shells refracting the light from enormous curved polished metal and glass exteriors. They were in the heart of Konohagakure, known dispassionately by those living in the outer reaches of the city as 'The Hub'. The Hub was, bluntly speaking, where the rich people lived. It was the heart of business, commerce, fashion and livelihood. In the daytime the streets were crisp and well-kept, the store fronts advertising their products through floor to ceiling glass walls; price tags unsympathetically on display. Several 0's was not just a common sight here, it was the norm. White light twinkled ostentatiously in the huge hotel plazas, rebounding off alarming amounts of white marble and inset jade and topaz, and the aromas exuding from classy restaurants furnished in a glossy black and white Zen fashion made one feel like they should be paying for simply inhaling. The nightlife was as similarly upper class, if not more so. When the sun touched the horizon, The Hub hummed with the deep bass of the exclusive nightclubs situated around the inner city and the light was dimmed, but more in a way that hinted at a sexual romanticism, of high class pleasure and exquisite experience.

In short, Gaara and Lee did not belong there.

"Lee," the short redhead sighed again, giving an impatient yank on the sleeve, "Let's get out of here before the rain sets in."

"I concede, my friend," the other sighed eventually, still looking glum, "But I had been hoping to replace the large amount of that thin wood I stepped on last month, and this is the only place that I believe sells it."

Gaara, remembering, let out a resigned breath. He had been pretty angry after that, and obviously Lee had not forgotten his wrath. He could see red sometimes, and Lee would only tell him afterwards what a dragon he could become. "So that's why you were so adamant on coming," he muttered. He led the way away from the park, leaving the glistening leaves behind them. "I told you Lee, you don't need to worry. The project wasn't even going well anyway." He lifted the corners of his lip in a strained half-smile at his friend. "Really, please don't worry about it."

He relaxed his facial muscles in relief, working his jaw as his face fell back into its familiar frown. Lee was still watching him; he could feel his eyes burning into the top of his head. When the sensation continued for another couple of minutes, he looked up with a scowl at his tall friend.

Noticing he'd been caught, the black-haired man had the presence of mind to look sheepish. When the glower on his companion's face didn't abate, he let out a small hurr noise in his throat before hastening to explain. "I just… feel like you need someone in your life, Gaara. You always look lonely at the moment." He gave him an apologetic look, and then scooted off the pavement to hobble on the edge of the road away from his temperamental friend.

Instead of getting irritable, Gaara took a moment of self-reflection. This wasn't the first time Lee had brought that up, not to mention his siblings. He huffed angrily, feeling the air thickening around his skin as the storm moved over the centre of the city. He didn't have time for a relationship. Lee had a long-time girlfriend in Tenten Oshimu, but he wasn't sure he was ready for the added pressure of a partner. He was overdue on his rent bill, and by the looks of things, Carl's Carpentry was starting to strain for work. It wouldn't be long before the place went bankrupt, and Gaara would be forced to hunt down another job. It wasn't a bright prospect, considering the recession that was rocking the edges of Konohagakure. Work was disappearing faster than the trees in the city, and it was only The Hub that remained unaffected. As would always be the way, the redhead though bitterly.

"You are thinking about the monetary crisis, aren't you my friend?"

The phrasing elicited a half-smile which warmed the heart-shaped face for a moment. "Yes, Lee."

He got a sympathetic mumble in reply. The brightly bedecked young man, in his self-knitted green jumper and bright orange Doc Martins, had managed a lucky break in the world of sport, winning three martial art competitions in quick succession and receiving a sport invitation for private training on a high level sports team just months before the bankruptcy and disbandment of the gym he had belonged to for over a decade. Gaara was happy for his friend, who had already suffered enough hardship in life; he just wished it could be that easy for everybody.

They rounded the corner of the park, the ever-exuberant Rock Lee walking in a light skipping movement despite an injury he sustained to his calf some weeks ago, that made the mop atop his head jump around. The redhead next to him absentmindedly blipped his fingers over the cool grey bars that enclosed the greenery. A leaf tumbled in front of them, finally giving up its hold on the mother branch, and as it tumbled in front of the duo, the redhead noticed the bus idling by the curb.

"Hey – Lee," Gaara said slowly, staring suspiciously at the vehicle as the engine made a rumble that indicated its preparation to move off, "Is that the one-three-four?"

The taller one focused on the numbers on the back of the bus – to the other man they were a little fuzzy seeing as he'd left his glasses at home.

"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Lee, that's our bus."

The already circular eyes widened further, and with the speed and precision of the athlete he was, he grabbed the smaller man's wrist and pelted at full speed to the doors which were shuddering closed. He made it by skin of his teeth, having let go of the redhead to jump aboard and stop the bus, grinned at the driver's raised eyebrow, and turned to point out a seat to his companion just as the bus moved off.

The aisle behind him was empty. Horrified, he jumped into a seat and looked out at the flash of red hair, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other holding a slightly damp wallet. "Stop!" Lee yelled, "There's someone else, my friend didn't get on!"

The driver shot him an apologetic look in the mirror, "Sorry kid, we're already running late."

The nerve! "Then let me off!" He nearly shouted, standing precariously in his seat.

"Running late," the driver repeated, and Rock Lee tumbled into his seat as the bus turned the corner and a wall of reflective grey metal obscured the lost little figure on the pathway.

Gaara stared after the bus, a little stupefied, as it vanished around the corner. Seconds later, his right trouser pocket started to vibrate. Numbly, he fished around for it and pulled it out, scattering a few smatters of sawdust that were in there too for some reason. The caller ID was next to a picture of a man with an extraordinarily shiny black bowl-cut. Gaara accepted the call.

"Hey Lee."

He hurriedly held the phone away from his ear as a cacophony of noise erupted from the other line. Gingerly, he held the mouth piece to his lips. "Lee." The incredible unbroken stream of words continued. "Lee. LEE!"

Thankfully, silence immediately reigned. There was a ringing in one of Gaara's ears.

"Gaara!"

"Lee, listen, don't worry about me, okay? Go home, do not try and run to me from the next stop-" the redhead knew what his friend was like, "Don't beat yourself up, and I will text you when I get home. Okay?"

"But Gaara..?"

"But what?" The redhead prompted, pinching the bridge of his nose inbetween his thumb and forefinger.

"It's raining!"

"It's not-" Oh. Clouded emerald eyes stared at the large splash of water on the thumb that held the phone. His mind cast around quickly – couldn't hide in a shop, he'd get kicked out… The park. The park had a covered wooden gazebo structure in its heart. He began to hurriedly jog back to the entrance, slipping the wallet that had fallen out of his pocket when he was running back into his trousers.

"There's a covered area in the park," he explained, his breath already catching as he sprinted through the park gates – he was no athlete like Lee, "Next bus is in two hours. I'll be fine."

"Bur Gaara!"

"Look, I gotta go Lee," the young man interrupted, and then terminated the call just as the rain started to come down in earnest. He pushed on in a faster, heavy-footed sprint, seeing the white-washed bandstand peeking out from behind the trees. In his periphery vision he spotted something else white – still running, he turned to look at it properly. It was a hand, the fingers just protruding from under an unkempt, wild-looking bush. Behind it, now that Gaara had slowed and was looking, he could make out a creamy fabric and the outline of a person. The rain was now falling in huge, wet gobbets, exploding on Gaara's body and his thin waterproof coat. The redhead was almost tempted to dive under cover, but moral obligation and a deeper gut instinct drove him towards the canopy of the trees with gritted teeth. Even with the thick branches and head of leaves, the downpour didn't lessen – it only pooled in the cupped leaves and sluiced down in large volumes, soaking the crimson locks into a dark burgundy which plastered itself to his forehead. Gaara pushed through the bush, the wet leaves soaking his trousers, and eventually stood over the unmoving figure.

He was clad in some kind of tunic of a wafer thin material, which by this point was drenched through and slicked to his skin in a way eerily reminiscent of a shedding snakeskin. It wasn't an unflattering look though, not in the slightest. In a state of confusion, the redhead made no attempt to restrict his eyes' roving movements over the man's body. Broad shoulders boasted both an elegantly long neck and wiry muscles which rippled along the shoulders. Long arms, similarly muscled, ended in surprisingly long and elegant hands, the fingers not quite slim enough to be called feminine and the palms wide and strong enough to be distinctly male. The torso was wide and powerful – the wet fabric just barely trying to hide the faintly ridged abdominal muscles – and narrowed into a slightly svelte waist. Around the hips was a thick black leather belt from which hung several pouches of varying size, half covering the groin area – Gaara jerked his eyes away from that region quickly. The legs were clad in skin tight faded brown leggings cut off at the calf. His feet were bare.

A freezing cold water rivulet made its gleeful way down the young man's back, and he shivered. Torn between trying to help the man – who still showed no signs of awaking despite the rain which was drumming on his pearlescent skin – and turning tail and running to the nearest towel shop, Gaara looked around, noticing thick branches littering the ground around the prone form. Suspiciously, he looked up, and his eyes widened at a gaping hole in the middle of the close trees, evidence of where the branches and been forcibly torn off the main trunk in the splintered limbs. Disbelieving, the soaking man cast another look at his unconscious companion, who lay directly under the hole.

"He fell from the sky," the redhead muttered to himself, "Figures."

The angled face, with its strong, pointed chin, tapered jawline and elegantly fine features was set in a blank look. Not the face one might call peaceful; it was completely emotionless. He might even have even been dead, had Gaara not been watching the languid rise and fall of his toned chest for the past couple of minutes. Nostrils flared slightly as the air went in, full, half-parted lips moved gently as a raindrop splashed into the corner. The eyelids were completely shut, the thin, silken skin a faint lavender purple, like a fading bruise. Long, water encrusted lashes brushed against the full cheekbones. Lastly was the hair; a slippery satin mass tangled over the bracken and richer than the wet soil it was splayed upon, long wet tendrils snaking over the shoulders and chest.

Gaara could get no wetter. Tremors shook his body like a spruce in a gale and every layer he wore stuck to his skin. Resigned, pissed off, puzzled, resentful – he moved numbly, wondering absently when hypothermia was going to set in, and slid his arms around the stranger's torso, levering him into a sitting position. Even as he knelt beside him he knew this would be a feat maybe even the taller Rock Lee would struggle at. The redhead scraped five foot six; the man he was currently preparing himself to lift, drag – whatever – was at least six foot, if not more. And the simple act of running gave Gaara a stitch.

Shoving the thought aside, he took a deep breath, made a last effort to shrug off the cold, and heaved at the man's compact torso.

By the Gods! Profanities slipped like acrid oil out of the young man's lips, popping in the air as the water bubbles did so out of his mouth. Goddamn, could this guy get any heavier? An elephant would be lighter than this! Putting extreme effort into the action, Gaara dug his heels into the soft earth and slipped his grip to under the armpits – there was no way in hell he was lifting this lump. Excruciatingly slowly, they began to move toward the shelter of the gazebo. By the time they had only reached the halfway point, having left the canopy of the trees behind and begun a slow trek across the small oval centre, Gaara's shoulders were burning, his sockets popping painfully. Small white stars were dancing behind his vision, the rain looked like purple crystals falling from the sky and his breath was coming in ragged tatters. He continued, cursing this activity. The unnecessary discomfort was a nasty reminder of the compulsory yearly 'Sports Day' in primary school. Even with the lack of jeering children and parents, without the pressure of winning or doing well, this painful exercise alone was enough of a memory-jogger.

Eventually, after what felt like the longest five minutes of forever, something bumped into Gaara's ankles. Gratefully, he took the steps slowly, wincing as the dead weight he was dragging bounced over the stairs without once flickering an eyelid, into the mercifully rain free air of the bandstand. Still shivering, he left the body where he'd dropped it – no way was he trying to get the man onto one of the benches inside the shelter – and desperately rubbed his arms to try and regain some warmth. He peeled off his anorak and then yanked his sopping black jumper over his head, fingertips by now completely senseless. He donned the waterproof again, just for some semblance of warmth, and proceeded to wring out as much water as he could of the clothing, careful not to let the icy sluice drop on the handsome man laid out on the floor. Satisfied that he'd gotten all the water he could out of it, he draped it on the bench in front of him and fished for his phone. It still emitted a comforting light despite the amount of water on it. He considered calling Lee, but noticed his battery was low. He needed to have the time so that he could catch his bus in an hour and a half. In the meantime, trying to take his mind off of the cold that was gnawing at his bones, he attempted to wake up the comatose man. Considering he had just dragged him across a small field and he hadn't batted an eyelid, he didn't know how to go about it. Kneeling beside him, he could feel the heat resonating from him – like a small furnace in the open shelter. He shuffled closer, and prodded his ribs. There was no response, which wasn't a surprise. Grabbing the muscled shoulders, he shook them roughly, eyes still drawn to the model features. No one could be that chiselled, surely. It made Gaara's fingers itch for his carving knives. But enough of that. He tried vainly to wake the man over the next hour, as the rain lessened from a roar of pounding to a mild drumming on the roof of the wooden gazebo, but to no avail. The marble eyelids remained resolutely closed. The half hour marker began to dwindle, and Gaara realised he should call the hospital, but by now he wasn't sure what to do anymore.

"Wake up!" He cried hoarsely, distress darkening the words, "We've got to get you to a hospital!"

Was it him, or did the lavender eyelids flutter? "Wake up!" He said louder, urgently shaking the shoulders. Prodding the ribs hadn't worked, so he attempted to find the nerve spot along the spine and push it in the hopes that it would jerk him awake. He worked his hand under the heavy man, a way away from the base – from the man's ass, he though, cheeks warming despite the chill – and moved his hand up the notched spine, probing his fingers in to try and find the nerves. As his fingers neared the man's shoulder blades, he thought he felt a ripple run through the hard body he was now nearly pressed against. Easing his hand out slightly, he watched as, slowly, the pair of lids eased up a fraction – not enough for the redhead to determine the colour of the irises but enough to determine that he was bloody still alive.

"Oh thank god," he sighed, trying to lever the man up, but barely succeeding in lifting the torso off the wooden panelled floor. "Hey," he tried instead loudly, tapping the man's face with his free hand. "Get up, we've got to get you to a hospital."

"No…"

Gaara blinked. "Sorry?"

"No hospital," the man objected, his voice husky from the cold in a way that hinted at a tone that should only be used in a bedroom. His eyes were still hooded and dark.

"You're bound to have hypothermia," Gaara argued, internally telling himself that it was probably the same for him, "Can you walk?"

"No…"

"I am not carrying you," Gaara told him irritably. The hospital wasn't too far, on the other side of the park; he could make it if he ran. He still had about twenty five minutes left. "Get up. We need to get you to a doctor, you appear to have fallen through the trees als-"

"No hospital!" The man snarled, sitting bolt upright and grabbing the wrist that had been under his back in his fist. The redhead sat, stunned for the nth time that day, as he was skewered on the spot by livid opal eyes, glistening like the pearls that hung about the necks of the richest of women – pupiless but for the faint pooling of glimmering lavender, the same colour as his pale eyelids, in their heart. Gaara blinked slowly under the blistering glare, his stupor dissipating under the merciless gaze to be replaced with annoyance. He tugged his arm against the hold the stranger had on it.

"Let go."

"No."

Irritation flared, itchy and hot under the cold and wet clothes. "Get off."

The stranger unfolded the long legs and stood gracefully, like a heron, pulling the shorter man up with him. He stared into the gradually slowing rain, still gripping Gaara's arm a little painfully. Slowly, his eyes grazed over the place where the redhead had found him.

"Get off, you ungrateful prick," the man he was holding hissed, finally succeeding in yanking his arm out of the other man's hold, "That's the last fucking time I'm helping someone." With a disgusted look thrown at the standing man, Gaara grabbed his wet jumper, not bothering to put in on, picked up his phone and ascertained the time before he shoved it deep in his pocket. Irked, he strode past the stranger he had helped on a whim back into the rain, digging with the hand not holding the jumper for the spare change in his other pocket. He exited the park shortly after, and spotted the bus turning into the layby. He entered, shivering in pleasure at the rush of warmth, and shook his head at the driver's questioning glance. He went and tiredly sat in one of the empty seats, noticing the slightly damp passengers edging away from his drowned rat look. It was only then that he noticed he'd received hardly any change for his ticket. He looked up, about to complain, when he saw the drenched long hair sticking to a semi see-through tunic a couple of seats in front of him. Eyes narrow, the bus lurched round a corner and he decided to ask the driver about the change mix-up when he got off.

Sleeping was impossible in his soaking attire, and he spent the entire bus ride in discomfort, wishing for home, a warm change of clothes and a cup of steaming coffee. His fantasy carried him all the way to his stop a half hour later, and he got up, studiously ignoring the prick two seats in front as he passed him, standing by the counter to speak to the driver.

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat hoarsely, "You mixed up the change. I hardly received any coins at all."

The slightly gaunt man blinked at him. "Well, that was because you bought two tickets, one for your friend there." He nodded to something behind Gaara. The redhead turned to see a very familiar tunic-clad figure stepping off the bus. Spluttering, he turned back to the man, only to be waved off. "Go and get dried off you two, you're making a puddle."

It was with disbelief that Gaara watched the bus trundling away down the street, his fist clenched around his measly change. Now thoroughly pissed off, he whirled to the other man.

"What in the name of hell do you think you're doing?"

The tall figure leaned against the wall behind him, hands slipped into the pouches of his belt instead of pockets. He shrugged indifferently. "Well I didn't have any money."

For the love of-

Gaara turned on his heel and stormed off, imagining wistfully that he could plant his fist into the man's smirking face and knock out each and every one of those straight and pearly teeth. The scuffle of bare feet behind him elicited a scowl on small features. He decided against turning around and swearing himself cross-eyed at the dashing yet astoundingly agitating person trailing him. What dumb luck they lived nearby, he thought to himself irritably, speeding up. The footsteps behind him remained at the same speed, but they still seemed to be at a constant distance. The redhead pushed his irritation down and turned the corner to his house. Thankfully, the footsteps abated. With no small measure of relief, he turned through the open square archway of his drive, patted the covered bike fondly as he passed it and let himself in. He threw the door shut behind him, but it jerked to a stop, still ajar.

There was a foot in the doorway. The door swung leisurely back, and Gaara caught it before it hit his chin. There, in his doorway, was the tall, dark-haired stranger from before, his arms folded carelessly across his chest.

"What?" He asked testily.

"Nice place." The man walked through the door imperiously, brushing aside the smaller man.

Face twisted in outrage, the redhead put himself between the brunet and the rest of the hallway. "Get out," he said coldly.

Eyes as pale as twin moons gazed overbearingly down at him. A thin pink sliver of a tongue peeked out of the light coral lips and swiped across them. Perplexed, Gaara's scowl deepened. "Why are you still here? Go home," he growled, advancing a step towards the taller man until he could feel the faint heat of his chest. He furrowed his thin, barely-there scarlet brows over his smudged kohl-outlined eyes. The stranger's face was set into lines of casual disdain.

"I don't have a home," came the stoic reply.

"Don't fuck with me," Gaara snapped, now well beyond the boundaries of annoyed and heading towards seeing red.

"It's true." The tall brunet smirked at him. "Or at least not one that I remember. I seem to have hit my head today, and I can't remember anything."

Eyes catlike slits, the redhead was glaring blue murder at the intruder. "Did I ask for your fucking life story?" He inquired savagely, before he threw his palms at the man's soaking chest and thrust with all his might.

The stranger didn't move an inch. The redhead looked up, astonished, to see one angled brow cocked over those luminescent eyes. "Are you quite finished?"

"Would you just get out!" Gaara yelled exasperatedly.

"No. It's warm in here."

The redhead's scowl was turning murderous. It was at this point that the ever brave Rock Lee would be a dot on the horizon. Yet still the infuriating man was here! "Did your parents disown you or something?" He spat.

A slight frown passed over the flawless forehead, something that Gaara didn't miss. "Don't ask about things you know nothing about," came the cutting reply.

"Can't remember anything, my ARSE!" yelled the redhead, furious.

He suddenly found himself pinned against his own front door, which had closed at some point, brilliant diamond eyes inches away from his own angry jade ones. The tip of the alabaster nose touched his own small, slightly upturned one briefly.

"You're annoying me." The warm breath tingled over Gaara's collarbone.

He fought against the iron grip but, to his consternation, couldn't break free at all. "No shit," he snarled into the beautiful, impassive face. "But that's rich coming from you, after I helped you out of the rain, I stayed by you to make sure you were fucking alive, I payed for your bus fare, and despite all that, you have broken into my home and are being a fucking. Arrogant. Bastard. And you say that I AM ANNOYING YOU!" He roared, vision hazed by rage. This guy! He was actually going to kill him.

"Huh. You did, did you?" The brunet backed off, a small smirk lingering on the curved lips. "I would thank you, but you're being a brat."

Gaara opened the door behind him. "Get out."

The brunet met his glare, smile gone from the soft lips. His gaze icy, he stared contemptuously at the smaller man. "No."

And with that, he turned to walk down the narrow hallway.

"Y-You… HEY!" Gaara spluttered, letting the door slam behind him as he pelted after the uninvited guest walking through the first door on the left.

"Now this is more like it!" Came the distant voice from the other room. Gaara skidded into the kitchen cross living room to see the man looking around the space appreciatively. "I mean, the décor leaves much to be desired, but the space?"

His rage all but gone as soon as he saw the beautiful stranger in his living room, the redhead suddenly felt like lying down and sleeping for a week. What had he done to warrant this? Could he trust this man? He honestly didn't know. But he'd have to until he could call the police, which would be after a change of clothes and a cup of coffee.

"Touch nothing," he said harshly to the model-like man who was picking through the chairs with a politely puzzled look on his face, a fake and ill-masked attempt to conceal his complete scorn at the selection of furniture. "Take nothing, break nothing. If you choose to leave, do not take anything with you, because if you really can't remember, then that's called stealing and it's illegal. And do not touch my coffee."

With that, he spun and mounted the spiral staircase, feeling those egocentric eyes drilling haughtily into his back.

Finally in his room, he felt some semblance of normality return. Dim grey light streamed in through the windows as the storm finally wore itself out, and without the lights the magical aura was somewhat diminished. The grey cast to the furniture gave it a more sombre, melancholic mood though, which Gaara felt was fitting. He flicked a switch, and the blue and orange lights came on, the glow not quite expelling the dull gloom. In the light of day, the furniture was finally visible. The four poster, with its tumbling sheets of silk, stood slightly away from the wall so that the fabric could completely cocoon it. The wardrobe, polished and ebony black, stood next to it. Gaara began peeling the chilly garments off his body as he crossed the room, bundling them together and dropping them into a wicker wash basket sat on the carpet next to a door that had previously been invisible in the darkness. The redhead pushed it open and snapped on the light; a small en suite in cream, gold and purple was lit under the spotlights. It was quite a tame bathroom – it had been fitted at a discount by the company Temari worked with, and she had picked out the colour scheme and refused Gaara any other choices but that one. His sister didn't quite share his taste in interior design.

The young Sabaku wrapped his fluffy white towel around him, looking at himself in the wall length mirror. His reflection stared back, pale and thin. The eyeliner had smudged horrifically under the rain, until he resembled a watercolour panda. Heaving a sigh, the man ran a face wipe under his lashes and across his cheekbones, removing all traces of the offensive material. The light green eyes looked small without it. He unhooked another towel from the hook and scrubbed his hair with it, not bothering about being gentle. When he finally emerged, his hair had a dishevelled look – he didn't know which category it fell into: artsy or bedhead. He debated leaving himself as he was, but force of habit had him lining his eyes with the thick black smudges. Finally acceptable, he felt irritation flare at the thought of the man downstairs, but he squashed it. No point having another yelling fit – that man was well and truly in his house now, and he was damn strong too. He didn't what his true incentive was but he sure as hell wasn't going out of his way to find out.

The towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and his skin finally flushing pleasantly back to room temperature, the redhead crossed the room, stepping the wires to various lights, and opened his wardrobe. A black t-shirt and red jeans were selected at random and flung on the bed as Gaara rooted for some clean underwear and a jumper. He pulled them on unseeingly – with a grunt he had to turn his t-shirt around, noticing as he did that it was the v-neck cut he liked – and finally reached for the small phone handset by the bed. The buttons glowed purple and yellow.

9.9.9.

Just as he was about the press the green call button, the phone was yanked out of his hands. He whirled to see the small black device disappearing through the folds of fabric in the piano hands of the stranger – the stranger who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the tunic shed somewhere; he only wore the original brown leather cut-offs. Gaara swallowed before he could help himself. The blankly impassive look was back in the pearl eyes, the luscious mouth set in a line. The blue and orange lights glistened off the naked chest.

There was a long pause in which neither man moved, save for the black phone twirling through long fingers. The '999' flashed in and out of sight as the gadget flipped around.

"I am a guest in your house, no?" Came the low voice after an age. "You should offer me a change of clothes and a beverage."

Ignoring the reprimand, his heart a little uneven as he considered the prospects – druggie? Murderer? Psychopathic asylum escapee? – he cleared his throat. "Guests are usually invited in," he replied in a deadpan voice.

"True," came the nonchalant agreement. "You look so much better now that you've cleaned your face."

"What do you want?" the redhead asked, keeping his tone neutral. He ignored the disdainful compliment. "Why are you here?"

The gleaming lights rippled over the cream skin as the shoulders moved in a placid shrug, eyes still glinting with imperious inner light. "No particular reason I guess. I just needed a place to stay."

"Then why me?" Gaara asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep his temper in check.

"No. Reason." The patronising voice explained with an exaggerated patience. The redhead's teeth ground together with more force. "You were there. There was convenient." Another shrug, reeking of arrogance and self-superiority. "Don't flatter yourself, brat, you were there at the right place and the right time. So I chose you."

"I'm calling the police," Gaara said shortly, making to stride out of the room.

Again he was stopped, this time by hands that yanked him around and gripped his shoulders, lifting him off the ground like he was made of air and thrusting him into a corner of his room.

"I chose you," were the blistering words from the sinfully pale peach lips. "So you will not run from me."

"Fucking chose me for what," the redhead replied scathingly, trying to pretend he wasn't trapped in a corner by someone who may or may not be deranged.

"To be my… 'keeper'," the smirk was back in full force, "Until I can go home."

Gaara was seriously getting whiplash. "You just said you don't have a home," he bit out.

The hands on his shoulders turned into talons, giving him a small shake. "Not here on earth, dipshit."

The redhead allowed himself one nod. Mad.

But the handsome, moon-eyed stranger hadn't finished. "I can't remember, dick. I can't remember anything, but having only just met you, and the things that come out of that irritating little mouth –" his index finger hovered close to the smaller man's lips; Gaara considered ripping the nail off with his teeth until he decided it might leave him disembowelled, "I have remembered. So I am going to stay here until I remember who I am." The speech was finished in a guttural snarl.

Gaara knew he would be pushing boundaries, but frankly, he didn't care. "No."

The diamond eyes drilled into him mercilessly. "It wasn't a question."

"You can't do this," the redhead objected in a fierce whisper.

The response came as a husky maple hum against his exposed throat, the lips soft and sinful against the skin there. "Stop me then."

With the angled jaw buried in his neck, Gaara's eyes opened as wide as the moon, his deep crimson lashes brushing his almost hairless eyebrows as white-gold light appeared in a 'V' shape on the naked back he was looking down. The light brightened, widened and burst out of the intricate tattoo, quickly forming a recognisable shape, glancing off the items in his room, highlighting the delicate cherubs carved into the maple posts before it became more contracted. The blinding flash seemed to focus inwards, leaving the redhead's eyes stinging and weeping, as solid matter became more defined; an almost translucent softness that looked like…

"Feathers…" Gaara hissed.

As if in response, the wings unfolded in front of his huge emerald eyes, light-refracting exquisite silkiness slightly clouded by a pearlescent lavender haze. They were just like the masterful statues created by blind sculptors who claimed they had been touched by Heaven – more divine, in fact, than even those. The captive man hadn't yet touched them, but the way they moved in a gentle breeze drifting from the cracked window hinted at their satiny texture. Even in the dreary light, their glow was glorious. It was beyond the redhead's imagination to think what they'd be like in the sunshine.

"Do you like them?" There was a silky chuckle.

The lips had disappeared from the young man's throat at some point, and a luke-warm tickle of air that smelled alarmingly like a fresh summer breeze was brushing over Gaara's skin. He ignored the burning white eyes boring a hole in the side of his face, still all too aware of the heat and proximity of the – whatever he was. He didn't bother to struggle against his captor, schooling his face so that his eyes weren't riveted to the phenomenon in front of them. He mirrored the stranger's detached shrug.

"They're alright."

"You're lying." The voice was musical and amused, arrogance still seeping into every syllable. The heat slowly moved away from him, but instead of bolting like he wanted to, Gaara made himself lean against the wall and feign indifference. He studiously ignored the creature in front of him to look around his room in a slow, unruffled manner.

"My house isn't equipped for someone with special needs. You'll have to find a specialised care home."

There was another small laugh, a dangerous one this time. "I think yours is perfectly adequate."

Get away. It seemed a good option. The redhead forced himself to saunter past the tall man, ignoring the limbs that emitted a soft glow as he stepped away from the light of the window and into the shaded corner of the room. The redhead pulled open the bedroom door and lightly jogged down the metal staircase. It would take the wing-man a while to traverse the tight spiral of the stairs. Feeling slightly satisfied, he reached the bottom and hastened to the kitchen. The car or the bike? Car will be easier, but I'd rather take the bike-

His inner musing was interrupted as soon as he'd taken two steps away from the stairs, by the long-haired brunet dropping out of the air, having jumped from the balcony, luminescent wings folded tightly against his back. Gaara kicked back the urge to blink in surprise and went around this new anomaly without missing a beat.

His bicep was suddenly tangled in long fingers. "You are walking with purpose."

Fuck. He forced an eyeroll. "I need coffee, urgently."

"Your medication?"

Don't snap, don't snap. "No."

"Then it's not urgent."

There was no point struggling against that grip, Gaara knew. He focused a subdued stare into the brilliant mercury eyes, waiting patiently for the hand to release him.

"I don't even know your name, brat." The lips quirked up again, condescension swirling over the face in a thick cloud. Hard agate eyes burned at him.

But the redhead knew he wouldn't be released any time soon – he'd have to find some way to escape another time. The man was too alert. "Gaara," he conceded grudgingly. The steel grip loosened, and he immediately tore his arm out of the grip. The brunet looked mildly amused.

"Neji."

Deep malachite pools sought to drive into the pale, white-tinged-with-lavender orbs high above his eye line. "I thought you had amnesia," came the accusation.

"That's one of the few things I do remember," Neji replied, the uber-politeness upset by the supercilious smirk perfectly ruining his fine features, in Gaara's opinion. "Neji Hyuuga."

"Gaara Sabaku," the shorter man said resentfully in response to the prompting eyebrow lift.

"Well, Gaara Sabaku…" The man rolled it experimentally around his tongue, hurring on the 'r'.

"Just what the fuck are you anyway," the young man in question snapped.

"Temper," the brunet chastised him, pale eyes gleaming, "I am an angel, Gaara, although I don't expect such underlings as you to understand that term. And don't," he added smoothly, seeing the redhead's surly expression and parting lips, "Ask me how I know. I saw those carvings you did in your bed post and I knew then." The angel allowed a moment for questions. Gaara's face remained stony. "Now, show me this thing you call 'coffee'."

The smirk tilted in amusement as the short redhead stormed over to the kitchen.

Notes: This comes up briefly, so I'll just clarify: I am 100% British. Therefore, I will be using the British education system. It goes: Preschool (Kindergarten); Primary School (4/5-10); Secondary School (11-15); Sixth Form (16-18); and then University. I'm forever googling 'freshman year', for example, because I have no clue how any other education system in any country works. Apologies for my ignorance. This won't be a big thing, I just wanted to have it all cleared up. Also: 999 instead of 911. Did the Americans change it because if you flip it upside down it turns into 666? :P

More Notes: The summary is misleading. Originally it was 'wings of 'translucent lavender',' but it was too long, so I had to change it to 'wings of 'purest white'. Very misleading. I hope you all enjoyed! I felt an indescribable amount of joy writing this – the idea has been rattling like a loose screw around my brain for TOO LONG! (A week). Also, Tenten doesn't have a surname, so I made one up for her. It may or may not be relevant.

There will no actual cities or places in this story, because my travel experience is limited, and besides, making stuff up is so fun anyway.

:)