I don't understand this Uzumaki person.

He shows up at scattered intervals in my life. The hallways and lunch hours of high school. Downtown. The classrooms, hallways, and parking lots of college. Cafes. Grocery stores. Etcetera.

He is everywhere, like some sort of impossible-to-avoid disease. I wish to be rid of him, but there is nothing I can do except move away. Which, naturally, I cannot do because of my family, job, and school located here. Essentially, my whole life is here, and the fact that Uzumaki happens to be here as well is merely an inconvenience for me.

A rather tiresome, annoying inconvenience.

Because despite my best efforts, I am no match for the boy's charms. He doesn't realize it, but in every move he makes, breath he takes, sound he makes, and word he says, he reels others in. There is something about me, he said, that scares him. Well, there is something about him that scares me, and I believe it's his natural way of charming others.

He is a strange boy. He calls me strange, but he must be blind, because he is also strange. I don't wish to be (it is the very last thing I desire, in fact), but I find myself being wooed by the blond's strangeness. His brand of strange is oddly fitting with mine, whether he realizes it or not.

For this reason, I answered 'yes' when he had asked me the other day if I thought Fate was going to keep bringing us together. For what purpose and in what manner, I don't know; I am not Fate's keeper. Although, I do know patterns when I see them. And damn it all, if there isn't a chaos-theory-type pattern to our incidental meetings.

I'm becoming extremely irritated with the Uzumaki boy, to be honest. He plagues my mind on a regular basis, ever since I fell atop of him that one day (I really ought to look where I'm going with my peripherals when I read).

I'm distrusting of my own emotions, which is why I rarely display them on my face. I'm fearful that they might betray me, as I fear they are doing now. I have my doubts (and thank Kami for those doubts), but I believe that my emotions are swaying toward the beginnings of a crush when it comes to the blond. Damn him. I don't want to be swayed, or wooed, or lured in whatsoever by him, his charms, or anything remotely regarding him!

And yet, part of me knows that I already am.

And judging by his blog posts (after Temari showed one to me, I went back on the website later and read them all, backwards, from the most recent posts to all the way back to his very first post), he is already falling for me as well, but is in grave denial about it. His friends are correct, sadly.

And I have no idea as to how this occurred.

We barely know one another, for starters. We are from two completely separate worlds. The only thing I think we have in common is our shared writing talents, or what there is of them. And if 'talent' isn't the proper term, then at least 'hobby,' since the two of us do it often enough to have it constitute as a hobby. He writes in a blog, and I in a journal. Feeling expression and event recording through writing: it is, in my opinion, the correct way to go about recapping one's life.

That aside, I have made a decision concerning the tall blond: I am going to make it an effort to speak to him every so often, if only to disprove or confirm my thoughts and doubts on how I feel about him, and how he feels about me.

It will pain me to do so, but it must be done. After all, I am in no way a fan of uncertainty.

Gaara caps his pen and slips it into the mug on his desk. The mug is a favorite of his that he made in a pottery class during middle school. It is in the shape of a raccoon, with its tail curling around to form the handle, and its face on the opposite side. While a bit childish, it serves its purpose and is the best out of all of Gaara's mug creations.

The redhead closes the cover of his diary (although no one will ever hear him call it a diary, that is what it is) and locks the bolt on it. The key to it is something he hides in his underwear drawer, and the diary itself he hides in his closet. He does his own laundry, so thankfully, the little book hasn't been found by his prying older brother just yet (he would have been teased to Hell and back by now, had the brunet discovered the journal). Temari, on the other hand, has probably read it. She's clever, and secretive, so for all Gaara knows, she memorized his entire written biography. But he doesn't care, as long as she keeps her knowledge to herself and doesn't leak it to anyone (especially not Naruto, whom his most recent entries center on).

The actor (he does so miss the high school Drama Club) shuts off his desk lamp as soon as his journal and key are hidden, and then proceeds to go to bed. It's early, approximately nine thirty at night, but he's tired, and has to be up early tomorrow to go to work before his afternoon classes.

And so, with the last glimpses of an Arian classmate blurring in his mind, Gaara drifts off into sleep...

I don't know what possessed me to do this, but I've actually brought my journal to school.

It might be a mistake, I know. I could lose it. Someone could pick it up. They could break the lock, read it. I'm fully aware of the consequences. But I had to bring it today; I'm using it to record a few notes.


Observation one: Naruto Uzumaki has many friends.

As I watch him in the dinning hall in the morning before classes, I discover that he is surrounded by more than merely his roommate. If possible, he has as many friends in the real world as he does on the Internet. I stare in what could be considered awe as I watch him converse with a group of at least a dozen people, and somehow, his motor mouth is able to keep up equal exchange between each and every one of them.


Observation two: Naruto Uzumaki oddly has a drawn picture of me in his science notebook.

I find this as he falls (ever the clumsy one) on his way to his next class. He's crossing the grounds of the main courtyard when he trips, landing with papers and things scattered everywhere. Being in the vicinity, I decide that I might as well help him out. He sends me a weird look when he sees me stoop down to his level to pull him to his feet and help collect his possessions.

The odd thing is, it doesn't look like he drew it himself. It's too masterful to be his. The style is unique, a mix between realism and anime. It's doodled in red pen, but the hatching and cross-hatching that shades the drawing is flawless, as is my pose: I'm glancing over my shoulder at someone where I sit in a desk, a book in my hands. Whoever drew this is quite the artist, but aside from that, they must have a class with me in which they sit behind me.

I don't let Naruto know that I've seen the loose-leaf paper with me on it. I casually gather the last of his papers and keep my composure as I hand them back to him. He mumbles a soft 'thank you' before standing up and scurrying away like a startled animal.

I briefly smile to myself. He had been blushing just then.


Observation three: Naruto Uzumaki doesn't like confrontation.

As I extend my opinion out to him, he retreats behind his wall of denial. I have a wall of indifference that I hide behind, but this is ridiculous. I shake my head at him, and demand that he speak to me. I tell him that he should really stop making his blog posts public, because I've read them all.

"You… you!" he stutters, and I notice that he's clenching his fists against his sides. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"Me?" I retort mildly. "I've done nothing."

"You've been stalking me all day! I've seen you scribbling something in a notebook! What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses, clearly furious with me.

"I don't see why you have to take this so personally," I answer calmly. "I'm just trying to figure you out, as you refuse to do with me."

He makes a face that informs me that I hit his inner feelings spot-on. He wants to figure me out as much as I want to figure out him, only he's been too timid to do so. But I am bold in the sense that I don't care what others think of me. I do as I please, within reason. Naruto does the same, only without reason, and only if it pleases others.

Naruto crosses his arms over his chest, folding his hands into the crooks of his arms. "You're… confusing," he murmurs mostly to himself. He stares at me intently, as if debating on what to do with me. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off with a raise of my hand.

"You're far worse," I assure him. "You have no pattern. I can't predict what you'll have up your sleeve next."

Oddly enough, Naruto starts laughing. He drops his arms and leans back against a nearby desk. We are the only ones left in the classroom; even the professor has gone.

"How's this? Up my sleeve, I have deceased parents and an adoptive father. I have a cat named Tsuki because of my father's bizarre sense of humor about how much I love her. And the weirdest part? I can read unreadable people and connect with them." He gives me a lopsided grin. "So there you have it. I'm all figured out for you."

"Not entirely," I murmur, but wave it aside. "If you can read unreadable people, then what can you see in me?"

"I saw earlier that you found my drawing," he replies stiffly. "You know, I don't like it when people see my drawings. I'm very self-conscious about them, since no one believes that I drew it."

I'll admit it: I'm surprised. Extremely surprised. I was one of those people, but considering who's in the drawing, I should have known that a friend of his wouldn't draw me for him; he'd draw me himself. It makes sense.


"But… why me?" I ask quietly. "Why draw me?"

Naruto brings a hand up to rub between his eyes and along his forehead. "Kami, I don't know…" he says distantly. He doesn't look me in the eye. "I guess... you makes a good model?"

He doesn't sound very sure of himself that this is the reason. And I know that it's not. I challenge, "That doesn't sound truthful. What's the real reason, Uzumaki? Why did you draw me?" I pause, my thinking expanding. "In fact, why did you write about me, either? What's so interesting about me that you have to deny?"

The blond visibly tenses. His hands ball into fists again. "Dammit, how should I know? You're just… different, that's all! You're here, and you're Gaara, and… even though I can't even describe why right now, I like it. I like that you're here, in my town, at my high school, at my college, and…" he hesitates, but the qwords slip out before he can stop them, "…In my heart."

I stare at him, my mouth slightly agape. I can't think of what to say. He kicks a chair, and then a smile worms its way onto his lips.

"I hate it, and it frustrates me, but… it makes me happy, too," he says, and finally, finally, his cerulean eyes connect with mine. I feel something rush through me, flipping my stomach and lighting up my core. I blink at Naruto, and he smiles brightly at me. "Sorry. This must sound pretty dumb. I tend to do that." He chuckles nervously. "Stupid me."

"No, no…" I reply slowly, "I… like your foolishness." I do. It warms me. "You're strange yourself, you know."

He laughs again, less nervous this time. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He glances down and around, at the floorboards. Then, he returns his gaze to me. "So… what were you writing in that book of yours, anyhow?"

"Observations," I answer lowly. I look at the diary in my palms and swing it around behind my back. "Nothing important."

"Funny," Naruto says with amusement, "I think it might be important. It might be proof."

I frown at him in confusion. "Proof of what?"

He grins, his tan face lighting up. "Proof that you like me as much as I like you."

And honestly, I'm speechless.

…So there you go, Journal. You've now learned why Naruto read you this afternoon, and why I let him, and the reason why I'm now going out on a date with him this Friday.

– Oh, did I forget to mention the date before? Sorry, it must have slipped my mind due to my excitement. Stupid me.