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Okay, so admittedly I got up a bit late the next day. But only by an hour! I had, what, twenty seven minutes to get my a** out my apartment if I wanted to make it there on time? Easy.

With practiced vigour I vaulted out of bed, showered and dressed within fifteen minutes, and flicked the radio on while I towel-dried my hair. It stuck all over the place when I was done, but it always did, so I wasn't too fussed about that. Girls liked the rugged look. And I was on the more extreme side of rugged bordering on downright messy, so there you go. Girls should be flocking to me.

And yet there was no girl sitting at my kitchen table when I padded across the tiles, and I was fine with that. It was true that the last time I'd been on a date was a while back, but I honestly just…wasn't fussed. Girls weren't everything. What was Shikamaru going on about? I didn't need to have a stupid crush on someone to keep me organised! I was organised fine! See, I had…I looked at my watch.

…nine minutes before I had to leave! Plenty of time. I mumbled under my breath about no-good nosy friends as I mooched around the kitchen cupboards for cereal, and proceeded to roughly pour myself a bowl and inhale it in four minutes. Then I spilled some milk down my shirt and had to change it for the only clean one I had a left (a black long-sleeved T-shirt, which sucked because even though there was a chill in the air in the morning it was nearing summer already, so it was going to warm up like an oven on steroids later), and knocked over the radio in my haste to get the damned cotton over my head. So naturally I had to wrestle with the batteries for a bit to get them back in. And locate my shoes. And stuff my wallet in my jeans pocket. But then I was ready.

I waltzed out my apartment at five to seven, guitar comfortable on my back.

I was a bit confused by the couple I was meeting to be honest. I was pretty well-known in this city (I'd made sure of it when I came here from my home town; there wasn't a paper my ad wasn't in and the newsagents all proudly boasted my bright orange card in their windows) and usually a couple called and arranged for me to come to their home to hear me sing. More often than not they came and found me at the Fire Drum pub where I sang every weekday much to Shizune's chagrin, and approached me with an offer when I finished a piece.

But these guys? I'd spoken to a soft-spoken woman on the phone who'd asked me to come to one of the rent-out auditoriums near the entertainment-providing centre of the city. Which meant either the couple were in the middle of moving in together so their house was otherwise preoccupied with looking like a fly-tip and couldn't receive guests (was it just my apartment that was constantly in that state?), or they were Mr and Mrs Moneybags-To-Be. I was banking and hoping on the latter. More dosh for me.

Either way I'd been given directions to the auditorium, so two short bus rides later I was walking down the street with the towering building in front of me, and severely regretting my black long-sleeve.

"It is bloody sweltering," I groaned to myself, ignoring an elderly woman in her little buggy looking up at me questionably as she zoomed past. Pff. Like she didn't talk to herself.

I relished in the cool metal of the handle as I pushed the front doors open, idly glancing at the colourful signs plastered over the glass advertising the various scheduled shows. The reception was cool compared to the feebly humid breeze of outside, and I swaggered up to the desk in considerably higher spirits.

"Hi. Naruto Uzumaki, here for the engaged couple? One of the halls should be booked for seven." I smiled at the receptionist, a pretty brunette with her hair in two buns, and she nodded once before checking her computer. She made a little disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

"…Yep, I have your name. You're a bit late, so do you want to go straight through? It's the door right at the end, on the left. Number six. Take the red door backstage when you go in."

"Thanks," I nodded pleasantly, glancing at the clock mounted behind her before taking off in the direction she'd pointed. Eh, it was only half past. I wasn't that late. I entered a long, narrow corridor and ran my thumbs over the numbers on the well-spaced doors, the smell of cleaning products rising warmly off the red carpet and the lines of linoleum flooring running parallel with the wall. I was well accustomed to places like this, so it didn't take me long to locate number six and find the door that would take me backstage.

I was not well accustomed, however, to the line of people that greeted me in the busy dark room. Seriously. I kid you not. A line. A line of people. A line of people leading all the way to the side entrance to the stage, where stood a nervous-looking middle-aged man with a guitar bobbing awkwardly on his stomach, blinking profusely forward like he was five years old again at the Christmas play. Clones of the nervous-looking man stretched along the back wall, some sitting on foldable seats, some standing, and all with some instrument of sorts at their hips or their lips.

I blinked slightly at the strange set-up (did I just stumble into a Beatles convention? I think I did), smiled winningly at one man who looked my way, and turned right around and walked out the red door. It was cool. I'd just got the wrong hall. I tottered up the tiny corridor and swung open the hall door to look at the number, squinting at the silver six that glistened innocently back at me.

Was there any other number that looked like the number six? No. One line and a circle, Uzumaki. Can't mistake one line and a circle. The smell of cleaning products waded loftily upwards, and I wrinkled my nose before I let the door swing close, fingering the strap of my guitar as I wandered back to the red door and pushed through to the backstage.

Well bugger me. I might actually be late enough that Mr and Mrs Moneybags had upped and left the hall to the Beatles Tribute Band try-outs. I squinted at the considerably smaller line of people waiting by the side of the stage and scouted for someone who looked helpful. Wait, where did the people all go?

"Next."

It was only when the voice bit out the command that I realised someone had been singing quietly. The voice abruptly stopped and a red-haired girl at the front of the line thrust her chin forward and disappeared onto the stage, the halt of the clip-clop of her shoes followed by the shuffling of a microphone. Muffled voices didn't reach quite as far as where I was standing, so I skulked discretely up to the line of people and tried peering around them, eyebrows disappearing behind my scruffy fringe.

"Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh yeah, it's your wedding day –"

I grinned as I recognized the soft vocals and light guitar play of someone used to being background noise at events. So this was where Mr and Mrs Moneybags were at after all, huh? But what was with all the people?

"Next."

"But I didn't even – "

"Next."

The noise of huffing was proceeded by an old guy in his fifties with a magenta flamenco shirt and a ukulele floundering onto the stage. The line shortened as the next person quickly took his place at the front of the queue, and I shuffled forward with them and nodded to the guy in front of me with a wry grin.

"Is this an audition or something?" I half-joked. Nobody laughed. They didn't even half-laugh.

"Next."

Wait. Seriously?

The bugger ignored me and shuffled forward. I made a face at his back, scratched the side of my nose out of habit, and tried to make out the stage past a gazillion shoulders, slightly peeved by this odd little set-up. So I got phoned for a job and I now I was supposed to audition for it? Dude. Insulting much?

"Next."

It was like some secretary had phoned all the possible singers in the area and was trying to find the best one for some big corporate event. This was just too…formal. I hated formal.

"Next."

I mean, it was a couple's wedding, right? Wasn't this treating it too much like work? Where was the fun?

"Next."

I frowned a bit at that. I was actually enjoying the women's playing. Mr Next was a bit of an a**.

"Next."

And then the guy in front of me took his unhelpful butt in one hand and guitar in the other and marched right forward, and I suddenly found myself at the front. The heavy-duty crimson curtains were obscuring my view of the audience, but I could finally see the stage and the lone microphone and seat at the centre of it. Unhelpful guy finished the long walk to the seat and exchanged words with the people offstage, then made himself comfortable. He fiddled with his guitar for a bit before plucking out something I immediately recognized as an ultra-slow rendition of Aerosmith. I tried not to groan. I really, really did. It ended up as more of a pained whine. This must have been the third time one of these guys had sung it.

"I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing…"

Aerosmith? Really? Was that not just a little overdone for weddings?

"Watch you smile while you are sleeping…"

And the guy who wrote it sounded like a bit of a creep if you ask me. The only person I'd watched sleep was Kiba, and that was only after I'd coerced Shikamaru into helping me draw triangles all over his face when he started snoring on the bar after too many drinks. Mr Next evidently thought so too (that the song was overdone. Not that it would hilariously take Kiba hours to wash the triangles off because I'd used permanent marker by mistake…yeah. He forgave me eventually), because his irritated voice lashed out like a whip.

"Next."

Unhelpful guy stopped mid-verse, looking wounded. I felt my brow furrow in irritation as he snapped his jaw shut and straightened the microphone in disbelief from where he'd been clutching it with the desperate love of someone watching their girl sleep like a stalker. Seriously, where did Mr Next get off not letting all these guys finish?

I waited until the guy had left the stage completely before I even thought about sauntering forward. Some of us had some common decency. Plus I had to take a few calming breaths to prevent myself from just storming up to the mike and cussing like Kiba when he spilled his drink. The Moneybags could bloody wait.

I slung my baby off my shoulder and unzipped her from her case, scratching off a tiny speck of paint before holding her gently by the neck and walking gracefully forward –

Okay, I skipped.

Did I mention how much I loved the lights of the stage?

There were only two people in the audience; a dark-haired man and strawberry-blonde woman (as in strawberry strawberry blonde. In fact the blonde might just be the light. Okay, wow. Definitely the light. That was pretty much baby pink.) sitting in the front row, the woman muttering to the man in a hushed voice.

"You can't say no to all of them, we do need –"

"I can if they're all s**t," the man's voice clipped. I was personally offended for at least two of the people who had sung, and then I was offended for them all, because they'd gone through a lot of effort to come here. So had I. And they probably thought they were going to be hired straight away, too. So one of my light footfalls kinda smacked the stage like a rhino, and I swear, that really did just echo like one of Shizune's screeches when she was PMSing.

"Tsk. I thought that must've been the last of them…" the woman whispered, turning around in her seat to pretend to give me attention while she fiddled with papers in her lap. The man's eyes were cold as they settled on me.

I cleared my throat and flicked the mike to off for a second, because I've always found it a bit impersonal to stand there shouting when another person is talking normally to you. It's like you're on different levels, y'know? And somehow I got the feeling that we were already. So damn the stage if I didn't do everything in my power to knock that little barrier out the window.

"Uh, hey, I'm Naruto Uzumaki," I grinned, tapping two fingers on my baby's neck. Is that a contract for me to sing at your wedding in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me? Nah. Somehow I got the feeling that wouldn't go down too well. I made a face at the stony stare Mr Next was giving me, and it just slipped out. "Wow. We look happy today."

The woman looked up and blinked. Mr Next got a little frown between his eyes.

Silence. Whoo. Tough crowd.

"Heheh. Oh-kay…" I scratched the side of my nose and hoisted my baby up, feeling the warmth of the stage lights on my fingertips as I slung her over my neck. God I loved this guitar.

"Honestly, who organised these," the woman muttered, abandoning her search through the papers and blinking at me exasperatedly. "Which number were you again?"

I cocked my head to the side in confusion. Kiba told me frequently it made me looked like a curious puppy. Kiba also wanted to be a cyclist vet when he grew up apparently, whatever that was, so there you go. Said a lot about what Kiba had to say. I glanced to the dark-haired guy, but apparently the only thing he said was next, they're all s**t, I want to go back to my pedestal, it's scary out here, so I turned back to the woman. "Number?"

"Your number. I can't find you on my list. The time you're supposed to audition."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Erm, I'm not a number. It's Naruto." I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "But err, I should be on the earlier times…seven. Ish."

The woman glanced at her watch and raised an eyebrow. Then the guy muttered something too quiet for me to hear that had the woman blinking at him in something that looked like surprise. I squinted suspiciously at him. I bet you anything that was some pompous insult.

Okay, so things weren't looking so good, but that didn't matter. I had other ways of winning them over. After all, they shouldn't have wasted everyone's time by inviting them to audition in the first place. I was confident I'd make their wedding a happy one.

I adjusted my guitar and gazed determinedly forward, catching the guy's eye when he turned back and speaking directly to him. He was definitely the one wearing the freezer-frozen pants in their relationship, and tackle the captain and you tackle the fleet, right? Right.

"Okay, I'm going to sing a song for you now, but I'm going to ask you to do one thing for me. It's not that hard, and I'm sure you can do it."

The frown between the guy's dark eyes grew deeper. I smiled winningly. He wasn't saying anything, but I definitely had his attention, so I took that as an incentive to carry on and pulled on my best, most friendly grin. It might have come off a bit cocky if his ticked off expression was anything to go by, but I ploughed on regardless. I never had been that good at holding myself back.

"Listen to the end, yeah?"

The woman coughed, evidently a little embarrassed. She shot a despairing look at her fiancé, who was still doing his best to chill my nuts off with his glare, and hastened to repair their image. "Of course. Fine. Go ahead."

I waited for Mr Next to say something. He didn't, so I smiled at his partner instead and nodded once.

"Thanks." I looked down at my guitar and closed my eyes to soak in the atmosphere of the stage. My grin was small but permanent on my face. "Here's one I made earlier."

In one of his more serious moods, Kiba had once told me that my voice was soothing because it carried a huskiness to it that pulled people into the quiet songs, and made them jump up and dance to the upbeat ones. A voice to make people happy, he called it. All I knew was that when the light heat of the stage lanterns was on my face and fingers, they hummed, and my mouth opened, and my eyes opened, and my guitar started to sing. I loved making music. And I loved making people happy.

"I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad, carry you around when your arthritis is bad, oh all I wanna do, is grow old with you…"

So I sang. The auditorium was quiet; my strumming light. They weren't expecting the first few lines, but then again, I was always good at surprising people.

"I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches; build you a fire if the furnace breaks, oh it could be so nice, growing old with you…"

No song sung at a wedding was complete without making someone smile, I was adamant about that.

"I'll miss you, kiss you, give you my coat when you are cold; need you, feed you, even let you hold the remote control -"

Even if it was only me. I grinned at the sound of the woman's surprised laugher.

"- So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink; put you to bed when you've had too much to drink, oh I could be the man, who grows old with you…"

"I'll miss you, kiss you, take your shoes off and rub your feet; need you, feed you, and when we play checkers I'll let you cheat –"

I looked up at them and imagined the love they must feel for each other to get married; imagined them walking down the aisle, sharing a kiss, and sharing the rest of their lives together. They wanted to be together after all, no matter how p***k-ish the guy seemed to me. I didn't know him, did I? She did. Some of the couples I worked for seemed so dysfunctional that I only understood why they were getting married when they were standing at the altar and staring into each other's eyes, and these two were no doubt exactly the same. I alternated tapping the strings for drums. The woman was smiling, I could see that much.

"– So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink; put you to bed when you've had too much to drink, oh I could be the one, who grows old with you…"

I wrote this little song on the back of a napkin at the ceremony of an elderly couple who you could tell, just by looking at them, cared for each other so, so much. Everything they did had love in it. The man would pass her a drink and his touch would linger on her hand. They were too old to spend their lives together; their lives were already gone. So they pledged to each other their last years. It was bittersweet.

Sure, some marriages didn't work out. Some only lasted two weeks after they promised to love each other forever. But that initial feeling; that loyalty that made someone make such a promise?

"I wanna grow old with you…"

I thought it was beautiful. I plucked out the last chords and let the sound tinkle off into nothing, the woman staring wantonly at the man beside her, and the man staring at me.

I sighed and forcefully pushed away the thoughts of late love from my mind with a hand through my hair. Was Shizune right? Did I need somebody?

"Oh my god, that was the sweetest song –"

Nah. All I needed was my guitar.

The woman dabbed daintily at her mascara to check it wasn't running and stood up in a flurry of excitement, leaning across the stage to extend her hand. "Sakura Haruno. Naruto, was it? Did you write that yourself?" she gushed, a pretty smile on her lips. I grinned and placed my baby down by the side of the chair before leaning forward and shaking her hand.

"Yes and yes. Naruto Uzumaki. Pleasure to meet you. Again."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine," she smiled. "I think you'd be perfect for the wedding. You'd definitely lighten the atmosphere." Her light laugh was welcome in my ears, and I detached myself from my baby and hopped off the stage to stand at her level, much preferring this pleased side of hers to her harried, impatient one. She turned to her silent fiancé with excitement in her eyes. "Right Sasuke?"

I thought maybe he was expecting me to shake his hand too when he just sat there with his cold eyes silent and slanted, or that I had to introduce myself again to him, but he made no motion to suggest I had to do either. So I didn't. And we sort of stared at each other.

"…Fine," he muttered after a very long, threatening-to-be-awkward moment. Sakura looked extremely pleased with his reaction for some reason, but I couldn't help feeling a bit stilted by it. Was that it? "Fine"? He'd listened to the end, and that was his opinion of me. It was better than "next", sure, but…"fine"?

"Was it?" I said, looking at him with a furrowed brow. He tilted his chin up as he looked back.

"It was fine." He broke his gaze away to look at Sakura. "He'll do."

I was studiously ignored for the next ten minutes by 'Sasuke' while his chirpy soon-to-be-wife (and how the hell she ended up engaged to such a grumpy git I'll never know. Fine? Fine?) filled me in on the details of their plans. She was far too pretty to be getting married at such a young age, and I even told her so. Her fiancé didn't bat an eyelid, which I thought was a bit weird (shouldn't he get jealous or something? He seemed to me like the kind who'd get all possessive. Honestly, fine?), but her musical laughter carried across the auditorium and her eyes glinted at me approvingly.

"You're fun, Naruto. I'm glad you came and sang for us. We'll contact you from this number, okay?" I took the card she handed me and raised my eyebrows in confusion.

"Wait wait wait. I thought I already had your number. Who did I talk to on the phone?"

"My secretary," Sasuke's cold voice sounded. I glanced at him. He had some seriously intense eyes, I swear. Sakura nodded matter-of-factly, as if everyone had a secretary to organise their wedding for them, and I turned back to her. Sasuke went back to glaring off into the auditorium, looking as if he could think of a million places he'd rather be than here. Clearly the life of the party.

"That's Hinata," Sakura said with a wave of her hand. "She was organizing prospective candidates and chanced upon you through flyer, I believe. You won't be speaking to her again; I'll be looking over the wedding preparations."

"Right," I smiled, trying not to a) laugh or b) get swept over in this odd little posh world I'd stepped into and ask something stupid about borrowing a butler to help the creative process. I fished around in my pocket and handed her an orange card from my wallet.

"This is my card," I said in good humour. "The number on the flyer is for my secretary as well."

Sakura smiled and threatened to break out into lovely laughter then as she took it, but was overridden by a derisive noise of contempt.

"I somehow doubt that." I glanced to Sasuke again. I really didn't think I was going to get along with this snoot-bag. I seriously had the urge to give him a piece of my mind already. Or my fists. Preferably my fists.

But nooo. He was a client. I had to refrain.

"Really?" I said with some difficulty. "Lovely." I pulled a big, fake smile onto my face and gave Sakura my full attention, every ounce the professional once I'd reigned in my bristling, spitting inner Naruto. The hell did he mean? What, he thought I was worth less than him just because I didn't grow up with personal maids, violin lessons every Tuesday and a dog named Antionette? "Great. So you'll ring me to arrange a meeting to talk over the songs?"

"Within the next few days," Sakura nodded breezily, an easy smile on her lips that faltered as someone peeked around the stage curtain and called her name like a terrified puppy. She made an irritated noise at the interruption and turned to smile sweetly at her fiancé. "Can you wrap things up?"

Sasuke looked at me and frowned as Sakura placed my card on the table in front of him. As in, full-on almost glared in disgust or something. The only thing that stopped me from shoving him and asking him what the <********> his problem was was Sakura effectively distracting me by clasping my hands. She must've been immune to this guy's prickliness. He was practically giving me a rash.

"Well I've got to deal with some business right now, but it was just wonderful to meet you," she said warmly, and I got the distinct impression that I was clasping hands with a businesswoman who earned about three times my salary. "I'm sure we'll all get along superbly."

"You too Sakura and err, yeah." I grinned and lightly shook her well-manicured hands again, somewhat awkwardly. "Superbly." Then she was waltzing off after a lingering glance at Sasuke, which he didn't return, and I was stuck alone with the first client in a long time I'd actually seriously wanted to introduce to my fist. Which, plus my teeny weeny ounce of patience, was not a good combination.

"It's just that you've got a phone call, Miss Haruno..." the puppy from before could be heard saying amidst profuse apologies. Sakura's footsteps faded into silence.

"Right," I coughed, rocking on my heels once Sasuke had stiffly stood up from his chair in some effort to bid me farewell politely. I think. Or maybe whatever was lodged in his a** was just getting uncomfortable to sit on. "Well err, it was umm, wonderful meeting you too Sasuke," I admonished rather pathetically. Kind of, I didn't add. Kind of not.

"I assure you, the pleasure's all mine," he said sarcastically, crossing his arms. I narrowed my eyes in disbelief.

"You...you're hard to get along with, aren't you?"

He narrowed his eyes right back.

"I suggest you don't try."

"I can't see why anyone would."

"Because they're idiots."

"Good thing I'm not an idiot then."

"Funny. You look like one."

I gaped at him, doubting my ears as he shifted slightly, sniffed and looked purposefully away. "Di - did you just call me an idiot?"

"Yes," he said clearly, still not looking at me. I felt like I was back in the playground. Except this time I couldn't sock my opponent a black eye or else I'd lose a job. I could practically hear Shizune harping away about the responsibilities of an adult and how to walk away from conflict. The thing was, I really wanted to get in this man's face and start a fight, and it was slightly worrying me. So I smiled winningly instead, and it was worth it to see the confusion in his eyes. Which were seriously dark by the way.

"Oh-kay then!" I said cheerily. Ya prickly b*****d. "No need to show me out or anything." What crawled up your a** and died? "I'll just get my baby and go." Oh yeah. My foot.

"Baby?" he echoed emotionlessly as I turned on my heel and hopped onto the stage. I grabbed the neck of my baby once I'd reached the mike and clenched her tightly in embarrassment at my slip, turning back towards him with a grimace. He was just...standing there.

"Yeah my guitar, she's my...I mean, she's precious like a...yeah." I stopped and sighed, running my hand through my hair. He was staring at me like I was some zoo exhibit he wanted to exterminate, and there was a really weird tension in the air I didn't understand that was prickling all over my skin. I don't think I've ever met someone who just didn't like me from the start. "You don't care. It doesn't matter. If your fiancé's going to be dealing with the wedding preparations, then I'll see you at the engagement party I guess, Sasuke."

And because I really am an idiot, I dropped to my haunches on the edge of the stage, leaned forward brazenly and jabbed him once in the chest with a cocky grin. "Try not to be too friendly, yeah?"

Then I was pushing myself up with two hands on my jean-clad thighs and walking towards the backstage door, swinging my baby in time to my steps and feeling oddly good about myself. Until his sharp voice reached my ears again.

"I'll try."

I nodded and walked backwards to give him a sarcastic wave before grabbing my baby's case from where I'd left it by the door. "You do that."

"I will."

Ooh that smirk was infuriating. With nothing more to say, I turned my back to the git and stomped off stage, feathers thoroughly ruffled.