Gaara stared into the mirror on the bathroom wall, running a comb through his slightly damp, freshly trimmed red hair. He'd been wearing his hair smoothed down for a while to appear more attractive to Shijima, and he'd let it grow out a little to accommodate his new style, but now it was a simple mockery, a jester's trick to taunt him with memories of their separation. He'd asked Kankurou to cut it into short layers that afternoon, figuring that something familiar from his past might be a comfort to him in the next few months, even if it was as insignificant as a hairstyle change.

His eyes watered, but he blinked the tears back, determined to overcome the pain with the strength of his usual stony poker face.

His face...

He stared more intensely into his reflection.

So...

Lonely.

And saddened by the ugly events of the past few days.

How have I gone backward by taking a step forward in life and considering marriage with Shijima? I've done nothing worthwhile as Kazekage, while I've been distracted by her charms. I must look like a fool to everyone.

His hand closed into a tight fist around his comb, the handle pressing an outline of its shape into his palm.

(Flashback)

"Poor thing... she's the 'normal girl' type, right? An orphan living off of what little income she receives from missions. And anyone who has a pair of eyes can see that she's got a huge crush on you, just like the rest of them. I think what you've done for her, and for that orphanage, is very charitable of you, seeing as she's not hardly your equal..."

"Excuse me?"

He rounded on her. The snobbish tone in which she had spoken about his precious friend had finally gotten to him, after months of pretending she hadn't said anything.

"I don't care if you ARE one of the richest, prettiest, most politically powerful women in the five Great Nations! I will not tolerate that kind of talk! Especially about her!"

"Why not?" Shijima frowned innocently. She didn't see anything wrong with it.

"Matsuri happens to be a very successful and strong kunoichi who has been kind to me for years! She graduated at the top of her class under my guidance! She may not be as strong as the most elite warrior or as rich as a princess, but she is still my equal, and I will not tolerate anyone saying anything less of her!"

She shrank back from him, and then he contained his anger.

"If this is what you're really like on the inside, then I no longer wish to be together with you."

"Alright, alright. Relax. I didn't want to be with you anyway. You're so moody."

She stormed off in a huff.

(End Flashback)

The comb's handle finally snapped in two under the pressure of his strong grip.

How dare she speak that way about Matsuri in front of me! That is absolutelyunacceptable! I could never marry a woman who did not respect my best friend! Much less, one who could not respect people who are less fortunate than her!

Then again, maybe she hadn't meant it as an insult, and as a high-end kunoichi herself, had been taught to only associate with people on the higher end of the social ladder. She could be re-taught if needed, but as Kazekage, he couldn't be bothered with baby-sitting her while she learned to be nice to everybody.

Gaara tossed the broken comb into the trash, making a mental note to send Kankurou out to the store to buy another one in the morning. He picked up the hair dryer from the counter, turned it on, and flipped his head upside down for the first time in months to give his hair some extra volume as he dried it.

Walking into his bedroom from the master bathroom, he sat on his bed and stared at the floor.

Matsuri...

He glanced at the picture frame on his bedside table, the two people shown in it smiling brightly at him with their arms around each-other. She'd embraced him on impulse, and he'd instinctively hugged her back before he realized it.

The picture had been taken about six years ago, right after he'd promoted her to chuunin status. He remembered her exam with perfect detail and clarity; how he'd gone out to protect her even though he should have stayed at the tower and let his siblings handle it. How he had watched her with his third eye and stayed by her side for as long as he could, but had ordered her coldly to leave the scene. He thought in that moment that he would not be rescued, that he would die alone. Then before he knew it, she returned with Team Gai, desperate to save his life. He'd been so touched by her passion and earnestness afterward that he was left speechless as she expressed her relief by embracing him for the first time. His chest had filled with pride as he spoke to her privately in his office a few days afterward, thanking her profusely and telling her that she had passed the exam.

And then he remembered her smile as he woke up from having Shukaku extracted, her arms flung tearfully around him once they were alone on the balcony of the Kazekage mansion.

They had casually dated each-other after her exam, and he had shared his first kiss with her as an experiment one night, but it had never really been serious. He had asked her for a real date once, but she had already made plans with some of her girlfriends that evening, and made a promise to go out with him some other night. After Shijima became his assistant, she began to avoid him like a disease, and constantly stole a glare in Shijima's direction when she thought he wasn't looking.

She's always had romantic feelings for me, and I know she respects me as Kazekage...

And I feel...

I don't know how I feel. I never considered it in depth before.

I know, at the very least, that I'm proud of her for coming so far in her career.

He smiled, and picked up the photo frame, running his fingertips over her face to wipe away the almost undetectable layer of dust.

She is the most precious person to me.

His smile disappeared into a frown as he realized that she might be deeply hurt by his actions.

I guess I hadn't thought about the repercussions of the marriage meeting having a negative effect on my friendship with Matsuri. There wasn't time, in the midst of the coup d'etat disaster.

I haven't seen her in a while. People say she walks around the village like a ghost nowadays. She seems to float lifelessly through the streets, only looking up to avoid obstacles, and to greet her friends with an obviously pretended air of contentment.

He replaced the photo frame on the nightstand, stood up and began to pace impatiently, running a nervous hand through his crimson locks.

Why is it that my expression in this photo is different than the image I saw in the mirror a minute ago?

I wasn't smiling, back there in the bathroom. But what else is missing?

Why are we so depressed, she and I?

What is it about losing love that makes humans lonely?

We have it one day, and then the next, it's gone. It's cliché, but it's true. 'Your love will always be fluid and changing like the tides', or something like that.

It hurts like hell when it happens, and then the pain becomes no more than a whisper as time goes by and new people come into your life who care about you. Old friends are often reunited after times of misery.

If that's true, perhaps I should go and see her tomorrow. Maybe I'll feel better.

He froze suddenly, his chest beginning to ache deeply.

Wait.

Why is that, exactly?

Why do I want that?

Why?!

Logic briefly calmed his heightened emotional state, supplying an obvious answer.

I like her.

Well, that's easy to accept. She's so nice, and pretty, and intelligent, and brave…..

She's always liked me for who I am, instead of being blindly in love with my body or my money.

We've been able to remain friends after everything we've gone through.

She's the only woman who can make me smile without trying.

I like being close to her. We touch each-other all the time, come to think of it… .

That's all.

The pain in his chest increased, as if someone had reached into his chest and was squeezing his lungs with the intent on crushing them and ending his life. His heartbeat raced.

No. That's not it…...

This pain...

I've felt this way for her before, but could never identify it...…

His chest hurt so much that his head began to throb sympathetically. He reached up to massage his temples, hoping to relieve some of the pressure, and felt the contours of the scar on his forehead.

Suddenly the confusion in his mind cleared to reveal a single word:

Love.

Tears blurred his vision, and dripped down his cheeks in rivers. His breath came in small, hitched gasps.

That's it…..

I…..

I finally understand what's different about this picture!

She's—!

I've always felt—!

I'm such an idiot!

He wiped his face with a handkerchief from his pocket.

I'm in love with her!

I can't believe I didn't realize that before!

If I don't tell her now, I'll lose her forever!

I—!

I don't want that!

Panic overtook him. He changed hurriedly into his deep red overcoat and left the mansion, telling his brother shortly that he'd be out for a while.