I wasn't used to the level of scrutiny that was being leveled at me right now. It's hard to imagine that anyone wouldn't flinch under such a gaze as piercing and unreadable as his.

My mouth ran dry as I tried to focus. He was waiting for a response and he was not known for his patience.

Yet, as I ran the question through my mind over and over again, all I could see were his eyes gazing into me with such open curiosity.

Was his gaze always so intense?

The first time we met, his gaze had settled on me with nothing more than blood lust. But that wasn't right. There had been more in that gaze than the desire to cause harm.

Thinking back on it now and comparing it to what I'm seeing now... What I'm feeling now… There was still some of the old Gaara in that gaze. The one that desperately wanted to have reason to exist. Even now, after so many years and so much growth, it was hard to deny the desires of a child that spent so long living for one thing and one thing alone.

I thought back to my own youth, trying desperately hard not to reference one of Gai sensei's speeches, as Gaara never seemed to respond well to poetry and descriptions of beauty and sparkling declarations of life.

I could understand the old Gaara. Hadn't I wanted to prove myself? Hadn't I spent hours training until my arms and legs were black and blue just so that I could be considered worthy of someone's time?

Gai had reached out to me and given me the guidance that I had needed. I can still think back to the first time Gai patted me on the head and pulled me close into a hug. How much it had caused my heart to swell until it felt like my chest was about to burst.

Touch was different for Gaara and I furrowed my brow as I tried to imagine what it must have been like, and still be like for him. I felt a misplaced sense of pride as I realized that I was probably the first one to touch him in years… Mostly because that first touch had been a kick that had shattered through his sand barrier and left a nasty bruise across his cheek.

Sasuke had been the first to make Gaara bleed and Naruto had been the first to break through everything and pull Gaara out of the darkness… But I had been the first to really and truly touch him.

I can't help but feel that maybe that first impact had affected the way Gaara saw the world now. Did he think that the only touch he was capable of feeling was pain? Did he still wear his sand armor when with friends?

"Lee?" Gaara's patience was wearing thin and there was the faintest hint of doubt forming as his brow started to furrow ever so slightly.

I had seen Gaara touch a comrade on the shoulder before. It was always such a light and almost fragile touch. When the touch was returned, Gaara almost always seemed to be fascinated by it. What did it feel like to him? Was it just the sensation of weight being added to his barrier? Was it warm or was it cold compared to the heat of his desert sand?

I met Gaara's gaze fully with the determination of a youth spent desperately seeking compassion and love.

I didn't have an answer for his question. I wasn't smart enough to give it words and I wasn't eloquent enough to even try.

I had long ago formed an idea of what love was supposed to feel like and I had yet to find it. I think the flaw was that I was always looking for what I had imagined day after day and night after night.

Love was supposed to be tender. It was supposed to be warm and gentle and big. It was supposed to wrap you up in strong and determined arms and pull you close and squeeze until your back creaked and popped. It was loud and quiet and beautiful. It was a sunrise and sunset all wrapped up in one after a long hard day of working out. It glittered white and pure like Gai sensei's teeth and was just as honest and true.

It was no wonder that I had spent so long looking for love and being disappointed when everything failed to live up to my misguided youthful imagination.

Just when Gaara looked ready to accept the silence as an answer, all be it a wrong one, I cleared my throat.

"Gaara?"

He gave the slightest of nods to indicate that he was listening.

"Are you wearing your sand armor?"

His expression slowly changed to one of utter confusion as he processed the question. He was probably wondering if he had heard me correctly.

He frowned. "No."

"Do you wear it anymore at all?" I did my best to hold his gaze, looking at him with the utmost of determination to show him that I was not simply changing the subject to avoid answering him.

A normal shinobe would probably hesitate here. Gaara's armor protected him from anything that could make it past his sand barrier. It had probably saved his life on more occasions than I could think of. Assassins had failed and fallen dead thanks to that armor and it would be foolish to so carelessly give away secrets to when and where he did not wear it.

"Yes. I always have it with me. It is an old habit that I don't see myself dropping any time soon." There wasn't even the slightest hint of a hesitation in that statement and I wasn't at all surprised.

"So why don't you have it on now?" This could go so many different ways, depending on the answer. I was putting a lot of stock in this question and I felt my heart flutter as I realized that I had no backup plan. What kind of shinobe was I to go plowing so carelessly into dangerous territory without a backup plan?

Gaara's frown only increased as he scrutinized me. "Because I am with you."

I let myself smile in relief and I admit I even teared up a little. It was the single most beautiful things I had ever heard. It was more beautiful than any of Gai sensei's speeches, which was saying a lot.

Gaara's brow furrowed even more as he attempted to figure out what he could have possibly said or done to warrant such a display. Someday, Gaara might understand human emotions and expressions… But I found myself secretly hoping that he is always as blunt and open as he is now.

My enthusiasm must have run away with me because I suddenly found my left hand cupping Gaara's cheek. The same cheek that I had once kicked in battle.

My fingers lightly slid across his skin, his skin, and my thumb ran over his cheek bone slowly.

Gaara's eyes widened just a fraction and slowly moved from my face to my arm, then slowly followed it back up to my shoulder and then up my neck and back to my face. I could tell he was looking for something there, but I couldn't fathom what.

He was stiff under my touch, and I almost pulled away out of concern that maybe he was uncomfortable, but something told me that he needed this… That I needed this.

My hand slowly moved down to his jaw line, tracing the sharp angles it found there until my knuckles brushed across his chin. He swallowed as the fingers dipped down to his throat, tracing his jugular and feeling the steady pulse of his heart.

How could his heart not be exploding right now? Mine certainly was. It felt like I might pass out at any moment as it pounded away inside like a drum desperately trying to keep up with a rigorous training exercise.

My hand dropped down to rest on his shoulder as my right hand moved up out of my control. I felt like I was caught in one of Kankuro's puppet strings as my body moved.

A single finger touched Gaara's forehead and gently traced the symbol it found there. Love. It was all I could do to contain myself as I experienced a sudden burst of enthusiasm for life and joy and all that was good in the world. Some of it must have shown through on my face as Gaara's eyes were drawn up to mine once more, searching for something he didn't understand.

I suddenly understood what he was searching for. What I had been searching for.

All this time we had both been searching. All this time being alone and looking for a perfect definition of love when it was right here, literally etched onto the forehead of my enemy turned alley turned friend turned something more.

"Love…" It escaped my lips as I breathed out slowly in an attempt to re-center myself. Gaara must think me a lunatic by now.

Yet I don't see doubt in his eyes anymore. He is watching me with such intensity that it makes his earlier gaze pale in comparison.

This is the look of a man who has seen something for the first time and doesn't yet understand it, but will never forget it.

I brush a stray lock of his deep red hair back and at last, I regain some composure and lower my hands. Or, at least I try to.

His hands catch my wrists before they can pull away too far and he pulls them back, holding my hands up before his face.

His eyes move slowly, following every line and shape of my fingers and palms. He looks at them as a shinobe would a secret scroll, desperately trying to memorize them and learn every single secret they might hold.

He breathes in deeply, lips parting ever so slightly, and closes his eyes as he slowly leans in and presses his cheek to one palm and his lips to another.

My own breath catches as I feel his lips pressing so softly to my palm, his breath hot and wet as he continues to breathe so deeply that I get the impression that he might slip into a meditative trance at any moment.

My heart skips a beat as he slowly leans further into one hand, nuzzling it and seeming to melt into it. Yes. My heart cheers. Yes. This is touch. This is what it feels like. This is what you have been searching for.

His lips part further and press into the heel of my palm and my breath hitches in surprise as I feel his teeth brush my skin, followed by the faintest touch of his tongue. The fingers gripping my wrists shift so lightly and I realize that he can feel my pulse.

His eyes open and I would have done anything to keep that look on me forever.

I lean in, nothing in the world could have stopped me now, and I press my lips to his cheek.

His breath is in my ear and it's all I can do to keep from spouting out a loud declaration of joy. Oddly enough, I don't think I could have if I had wanted to.

My arms slip around his shoulders and I pull. His chest is to mine and I squeeze, remembering to moderate my strength so as not to crush this beautiful and delicate man.

I am not surprised to find him stiff and ridged in my arms. When was the last time he had a hug? When was the last time he was ever this close to a person?

I continue to hold him close, breathing in the scent of sand, sweat, and something more that I can only equate to simply being him.

I feel him move and I expect to feel him pushing me away and out of his personal space. I am surprised beyond measure when I feel his hands ever so lightly lay on my back as he returns the embrace.

Slowly, bit by bit, I feel him start to relax as his shoulders drop and he starts to lean his weight into me. His cheek is now pressed to mine and I can't help but wonder if his eyes are open or closed but I don't dare move to find out.

"Lee?" His voice cuts through the breathy silence unapologetically.

"Mnh?" I am not bold enough to dare try talking just yet.

"Is this it?"

It takes me a moment to figure out what he's talking about. Ah, the question.

"Yes." I answer without thinking, but know deep down that it is the truth.

He seems to take a moment to let it sink in, processing it as he does everything. Does he understand? Is it acceptable?

He shifts slightly and I feel his head move down to rest heavily on my shoulder. His hands move upwards and fist in my shirt, hanging heavily from my frame as I feel his nails digging in ever so slightly. I know without looking that his eyes are closed. I want desperately to see the ghost of a smile that I can feel as his lips brush my neck, but I don't dare move. The smile will come again when he is ready to show it to me. For now, I am content just to feel it.

His full weight sinks into me and I find myself fully supporting him. Had anyone come in at this very moment, they might mistake him for being asleep. I briefly wonder if anyone had ever seen him this relaxed before, and then smile as I realize that I was probably the first.

"I understand." His voice is soft and gentle. "Thank you."

I can feel his breath on my neck and it tickles faintly. He shifts and I find myself at an awkward angle as I support both of us while desperately trying to limit any movement in an attempt not to ruin the moment.

"Lee?" As soft as it is, it still manages to contain that certain demanding and questioning tone to it that makes it pure Gaara.

"Mnh?" I'm back to only being able to respond in sounds again.

"Can we stay like this just a little longer?" The voice of a child, yearning and clinging to something he's afraid to lose.

"Mnh." I give the smallest of nods. "As long as you need."

And I meant it, too. I had trained for years and years to control my every muscle and my stamina was practically limitless. If he had wanted to, I would have maintained this exact position for the rest of our lives.

It was awkward, a little uncomfortable, warm, invasive, somewhat painful, unexpected, and it was just the smallest of mountains yet to come. There were no romantic declarations. It was quiet and soft and heavy. It was scary and it was exciting and maybe just the smallest bit dangerous. It was unpredictable and there certainly was nothing pure and natural about it.

Gaara's fingers shifted in my shirt and he gave the smallest of squeezes as he nestled into me warmly.

This, I realized, is what love really is.

It was everything I had ever wanted.

Disclaimer: Naruto is not owned by me. I am in no way making profit off of this and am strictly using the characters and world for fan based fiction.