Author's Notes:
This one-shot is a result of a dare after a conversation a while back about how much I love the pairing, and this idea came from a song, surprise, surprise. It's Longer by Delta Goodrem. God, I love Delta's music – old and new. :) Anyway, I know the Tokyo Rails are a lot busier than I've indicated here. But for the purposes of this fic, it's only crazy in the morning (during the normal rush hour). Enjoy. :)
–
Reason to Breathe
–
There was nothing like doing something she hated only to find a reason to love it. The contradictory sentiments were like a breath of fresh air, and Kami knew, she needed something to shake up the funk she'd been in since moving to Tokyo. City streets, neon lights… the night before her first day at work was like any other. She arrived at her new apartment, annoyed at the blonde who'd almost driven them into a ditch on the highway. Ino Yamanaka was a hell cat behind the wheel, and had no regrets, the under worked, over paid bitch.
This was how Sakura Haruno had found herself forced to take the train.
There was something to be said for stepping outside of her comfort zone – when it went bad, she could strangle that blonde bimbo calling herself her best friend, guilt free. She was already imagining what it would feel like to have her hands locking around Ino's throat and squeezing.
And what was it exactly that she'd found herself loving? That first day on the subway, and the months that followed. She'd imagined the boredom of the railway would induce a stupor and on her first day, she'd either be hyperventilating or asleep when her station drew alongside the locomotive. Sakura imagined that once she'd woken up (or calmed down), nothing and no-one could make her get back on that train.
Ino was always telling her she had no imagination.
The first day started out as expected (due mostly to her preconceptions), but it did get better... and in the most delicious way possible – in the form of an "on sight" crush. She didn't know how else to describe the reaction she'd had to him. But, first things first, her first impression of the underground train station had been a bad one. And to make matters worse, the idea of taking the subway had always made her want to gag. It wasn't like there was smog or the stench of human waste – no, the subway of Greater Japan was immaculate and blah, blah, blah… no, the sensation of wanting to heave up her breakfast came from knowing she would be stuck in rush hour and forced to stand close to other people. It made her as uncomfortable as having to avoid eye contact with the multitude of people who would stare at her.
The dark haired people milling about her blended right in, but she didn't; Kami knew why she just had to have natural pink hair. Sakura had dyed it, crimped it, cut it, and curled it so many times that her doctor told her not to do it anymore. She'd spent her whole life hiding from the abnormality that was her.
'One more time and you'll be poisoning yourself, at least more than you already have.'
Wishing she was still living in Konoha (where the easiest way to get around didn't involve bunching up in the scorching heat and pretending she wasn't inhaling someone else's body odour), Sakura stared at the ticket vending machine; the stupid thing wouldn't accept her ¥2,000 bill. Glaring wouldn't change anything, no matter how much venom she put into it. She'd never taken the train before today, so just decided on a Tokyo Metro One-Day Pass for this one time; it couldn't hurt, right? She'd only be taking the train twice – to and from work – so it was probably a waste, but right now, she didn't care.
Sulkily retrieving her ticket, Sakura made her way through the Fare Gate, waited at the platform, and let out a disgruntled sigh at the sight of the incoming Tokyo Metro ‒ this was the Marunouchi Line. She hated it already. But she'd started a new job that required an earlier arrival time – the rapid transit of the underground subway was her only option other than waking up at two o'clock in the morning and walking for hours.
The morning rush hour was killing her – the women-only car she was told she could take, was completely full. Sakura had the choice between waiting for the next train (that would make her late to work) and boarding one of the normal cars. Since there were other women in said cars, she felt comfortable enough to risk it this one time.
But the staring was grating on her nerves. Most of the passengers were men in suits, and she found it incredibly intimidating – she was wearing her uniform already, a dark blue vest over her white blouse and knee length pleated skirt. She felt self-conscious, since the only other women in the car were dressed more formally (pants, whatever – it was smart and unlike her clothes, fit like a glove). She was out of sorts in this kind of environment.
At the first stop, when the doors opened, she realised she was going to have to stand up. The woman waddling toward her was the epitome of what Sakura disliked – someone or something she felt obligated to think of over herself. But she stood, stepped aside, and offered her seat. It was the proper thing to do after all. Shifting away from the courtesy seat, Sakura responded to the grateful "thank-you" with a "you're welcome" from the heavily pregnant woman. She tried to weave her way through the mass of bodies and away from the end of the car; she was instead immediately blocked by the arrival of more men in suits. She felt stifled, panic rising up in her chest, and quickly closed her eyes.
'Focus, Sakura – it's just a train ride. No-one here is going to rub themselves up against you or leer inappropriately.'
She hated crowds.
The train jerked, and she snapped her eyes open as it moved. One of the men who'd stepped in front of her was now staring at her. He wasn't leering, but there was a sort of sympathy in his eyes – the kindness in the soft green colour drew her attention first. Then her eyes flickered upwards and she realised the man had short, dark red hair. He stood out as much as she did, it would seem, but no-one was staring at him.
She was lost for words, a blush appearing on her cheeks as he continued to stare at her. While the other passengers gawked at her hair or occasionally spared her a curious glance, his eyes were set firmly on hers.
'Oh god, oh Kami…'
Time seemed to stand still and she was captivated. Sakura flagrantly stared back at him, her hand moving to the metal pole he was clinging to as she moved instinctively closer to him. He held tightly to said pole, barely moving as the train came to a stop. It was another station – Sakura hadn't realised it, but she'd been staring at this mystery man for almost twenty minutes – how many times had they stopped and then started again?
Blush lined her cheeks at this realisation, but she didn't look away; she couldn't. The expression on his face was guarded, so she wasn't sure if this man was checking her out or just rude. Finally opening her mouth to say something, she was cut off by the sudden motion of the train; she stumbled forward and his free hand came up to stop her fall. He caught her, his arm slinging around her shoulder; she inhaled deeply, his very masculine scent making her tremble.
"Th-thanks…" She muttered, pulling away from him.
She decided to interpret this as a sign to stop talking – etiquette on board subway trains in Japan demanded they didn't anyway – she'd read it in a book. But it was disappointing; she wanted to know his name, among other things.
He smiled at her – it was brilliant, the way it lit up his face and seemed to highlight a light shade of pink along his cheeks. She wasn't the only one so taken, it seemed. Sakura smiled back, trying to ease the nervousness flitting about her stomach; the butterflies had become acrobats instantly, doing things she'd never thought possible. It seemed to show on her face because the red head was smirking now; his free hand moved from her shoulder to her elbow and clung tightly. He wasn't making some sleazy move on her, but his face was smug nonetheless.
Arrogant might be a better word.
They continued to stare at each other, though Sakura tried desperately to look away from him. The last thing she needed was to be near another man that took pleasure in her discomfort. She inhaled deeply, keeping the station number of every stop in her peripherals, and making no move to relieve herself of this man's grip. His hand felt oddly comforting against her bare skin (the sleeves of her blouse didn't quite make it to her elbows), and he was at least distracting her from her panic of being so surrounded.
The ride to the Shinjuku-Sanchōme Station came too soon, and she reluctantly moved toward the exit. She didn't realise at first, lost in her reverie, that the red haired man was following her. She'd never been so taken by someone like this before, and she supposed his good looks helped. But it also made her wary. She looked back after disembarking, only to find him barely a foot away from her, before turning to face him.
"I'm Gaara," he said, his voice husky and making her tremble.
"S-Sakura," she stammered and mentally slapped herself.
His head jerked to the side suddenly and something must have caught his attention – she didn't look, wanting him to keep talking. But Gaara was already moving away.
"See you later," he said, and she missed the strained hope in his voice.
Sakura nodded. "Yeah."
The rest of the day went by slowly, like Kami was trying to torture her. Her new job entailed data entry as well as organising – the latter would broaden to company fundraisers and the such after she passed the one month mark of working here. But despite the tedium, Sakura didn't mind it – sorting things into their proper place was like second nature to her anyway. She wondered if Gaara had been heading to work, despite the sleek business suit he'd been wearing. It was obvious, but for all she knew, he'd been heading to a funeral, or some early morning… function… or whatever.
"Blaargh!" She pulled a face at the so-called cuisine when lunch rolled around. It was slop: nothing more and nothing less. It would be worth it to spend most of her lunch time looking for a decent food court outside of the cafeteria at work.
And again, her thoughts drifted to Gaara.
"I think I'm getting obsessed."
She needed to stop these thoughts – chances were that she'd never see Gaara again. That was a depressing commentary and worse than her musing on what he was doing and thinking ‒ and whether or not he was thinking about her. Ino was going to make fun of her for it, and the pinkette had no-one else to confide in, so she steeled herself for the inevitable questions and judgements as she clocked out. The walk back to the station was numbing, and she didn't realise at first, as she moved toward the women-only car, that Gaara was there again.
His hand shot out, grabbing her elbow again; she let out a small yelp as he steered her away from the car he wasn't allowed in. She spun with Gaara's rough pull and realised then that he had started to tug her down into a seat. She made a small hiccupping sound on contact with the seat and he chuckled.
For a moment, she didn't know what to say or do, but then her anger took over.
"There was no need for that," she snapped, pointing a finger in his face.
"I disagree," he waved her hand away, clearly enjoying himself. "I wouldn't have had anyone to talk to if you'd made it into the women-only car."
"You're not supposed to be talking," she reminded him, pointing up at the sign above her head ‒ an ever present reminder of what was referred to as subway manners.
He smirked. "That's only for your phone, princess." She went red and he chuckled. "You're new to public transport."
She nodded, even though it hadn't sounded like a question, and then lowered her head in embarrassment. But he hadn't talked to her this morning – and come to think of it, none of the other passengers had said a word either.
"They're so boring," he said, when she brought it up. "And I'm fascinating."
She groaned. "Are you always this obnoxious?"
"No."
"Really?" Somehow she doubted that.
That smirk was still on his face. "I'm worse."
"Oh, so you don't normally talk to random strangers?"
"I do not," he agreed softly. "I'm not really a people person."
The cheek was gone from his voice suddenly, and Sakura decided this was the perfect opportunity to get some serious answers out of him.
"So, you ride the Tokyo Metro often?"
Gaara let out a soft chuckle. "No, not really."
"Oh?"
"I don't like public transport."
She smiled. "Me neither."
"What about you?" He asked. "You come here often?"
That made her blush, and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "No, but I'm stuck here anyway."
And the next thing she knew, he was prying things out of her – the first of which was what she did for a living.
"You're a sorter?"
She frowned at the smirk on his face. "No," she snapped. "I organise – there's a difference."
"Oh, I see."
Sakura just shook her head in frustration at the cheek in his voice, glancing toward the windows before settling on the red head again. He lost the cheek as he told her about himself.
Gaara had just arrived in Tokyo as well, and would only be here for three months, looking after some subsidiary in his father's business – he refused to elaborate. Sakura told him about having to move to Tokyo after a bad breakup; she'd let her best friend tag along, but the woman was grating on her nerves. The pinkette wanted to go to work, make friends, and come home to a clean apartment. The blonde wanted to go out, party, do drugs and drink past her limit, then come home and make a mess of the lounge room with some random guy she'd found at a night club.
Before Sakura knew it, she'd been riding the train to and from work for two and a half months. It was nearing Gaara's return to Suna and despite her smiles and jokes, the thought of him leaving was upsetting her. Another week rolled by and he finally noticed the hesitance in her smile.
"I'm going to have to keep you, you know," he said, sounding serious.
It made her smile and she stole a look at him as they walked out of the underground station. It was dark, but the streets were lit, and Gaara stopped at the top of the escalators, just short of the door leading outside.
"Really?"
He nodded. Gaara pushed her gently, and caged her between his body and the wall behind her. His eyes were calculating, thoughtful and minutely wary. He was considering doing or saying something – a scary something perhaps. His façade of controlled emotions had become a transparent mask to her since their first meeting. He kept his guard up by default because it was the only way he'd survived in the ruthless world of business his father had introduced him to from a young age. It was apparently also why he had so few friends. He was considered quite ruthless himself.
Finally, Gaara seemed to come to a decision. "Can I kiss you?"
Sakura nodded silently, not hesitating; she'd wanted him to the moment they'd met. Gaara licked his lips and lowered his mouth to hers. It was chaste, which was fine and all, but she wanted more. So she drew her tongue across his mouth, making them both tremble, before he obliged her. Pushed up against cold hard concrete, Sakura was suddenly burning. Her arms encircled his neck and he growled softly into her mouth, pressing into her.
They weren't lovers, they weren't even dating, but she felt like they were. She'd never had such a strong connection with anyone before, male or female. This was what her mother had told her about growing up, what all those fairy-tales had had her dreaming about. And she didn't want to let it get away: not now, not ever.
Gaara was the one to break the kiss, and rested his forehead against hers as he struggled for breath. His face was flushed and she felt excited at the way she was making him feel. Sakura took a moment also, but it was getting late, and they both knew this wasn't the end after all.
"See you tomorrow?" She asked, still slightly breathless.
He gave her a playful smile. "I'll be there."
Sakura walked away, glancing back as she always did, to see him doing the same. Tomorrow they'd do this all over again, and she knew that somehow, things would work out. After all, he'd said he would be there. The next morning, she was happier than she'd been in years, humming as she took a rare seat, looking forward to the next train stop, where the red head would emerge from. She sat up straight as the train pulled into the stop, her eyes instinctively searching for Gaara.
He wasn't there.
– Reason to Breathe –
Sakura had no idea what'd gone wrong. He'd seemed so sincere, like he really was looking forward to seeing her again. He had another week before he was expected back in Suna, so why would he just flake like that? She couldn't understand it.
Ino told her to stop being a drama queen. "Men do that sweetie – don't take it personally. Besides, if he really is as good looking as you say he is, he's probably married, and with like a dozen mistresses."
But the blonde didn't know him, she'd never met him; and despite the alarming level of arseholes out there, not all men were flakes! At least, not so soon after meeting a woman – sure, they'd kissed, but they hadn't had sex, which was the only thing the real lowlifes stuck around for after all. It made no sense.
This left a gut wrenching ache in her heart and she couldn't stop the onslaught of tears. She felt so stupid, so pathetic; why was this happening?
Once she'd calmed down, Sakura decided: she ignored Ino's disgusted comments and refused to go out clubbing to forget Gaara like the blonde "suggested". She went to work, taking the same route, the same time, and hoping against hope that the red head would appear after all, with some reasonable excuse. Embarrassed by her own fears, she waited past the point in which Gaara had said he'd be heading back to Suna before trying to think about how she'd track him down.
What did she know about him? He was from Suna, was the same age as her – twenty-two – and his mother was some kind of philanthropist. He was the youngest of three – not much help there – and the only one of them working in the family business – even less help. Sakura chewed on the end of her pencil as she tried to remember more. She was sitting at the desk in her bedroom, wearing only a pair of boy-shorts and small tank top; completing the ensemble was her fluffy purple slippers. She didn't own lingerie, much to Ino's chagrin.
She finished writing out the list and turned on her laptop – if she was going to find him, it wasn't by door knocking or going back to the train station. No matter what his reasons were, it was clear he wouldn't be going back there now. She needed a new place to look. The problem was, she only knew his given name. She searched the business tycoons in Suna, but none of them had a red haired son. Then she remembered his mother and added "philanthropist" to the advanced search.
Suna had a reputation for its seedy underground – and corrupted officials – so what were the chances that there were many wives of entrepreneurs that spent their time giving instead of taking?
Apparently, there were four.
The first one that came up was actually a widow and had only daughters –strike her off the list. The second had twelve children, something like fifty grandchildren, and looked like a harridan with boils.
'Eew.'
The third looked a little better; she had three children, her husband was a stock broker. It looked promising.
"Asuka Hashimoto."
Sakura murmured the name a few times. It sounded strange – why did it sound strange? The woman fitted the bill, but somehow she doubted Gaara's mother had been married three times. She settled on the last one – Karura Sabaku – the name rolling off her tongue easy. She followed the links until she found what she was looking for: a family picture taken at some official reception that couldn't be more than two years old. And there he was, looking out of sorts, even though he was looking straight at the camera. He wasn't smiling, but the sight of him all dressed up got Sakura's heart beating faster, and she scanned the comments, made by some reporter. She sounded like a fan too, which made Sakura wonder: was Gaara more popular than he realised? During their conversations, he'd sounded like a lost child when talking about his social life.
She gazed for a moment, before shaking herself of these thoughts.
Gaara was listed, which made it easier – he probably kept that number for emergencies and such. She couldn't imagine him giving it out on a whim.
Sakura spent twenty minutes just staring down at her phone after she'd punched in the number. Now that she was here, she was terrified ‒ what if he'd decided she was just a stupid little girl and had moved on? She felt like some overbearing fan girl who wanted to know why he didn't respond to her last three hundred emails.
'God damn it.'
She needed to get a grip, buck up, and just press that freaking button! She did it before any more pessimistic thoughts could take her over and was relieved when it started to ring. But good Kami he was taking his sweet time in answering. The click on the other end almost unhinged Sakura, and she inhaled sharply at the sound of a feminine voice.
"You've reached Gaara Sabaku's phone: start talking or I'm hanging up."
A slight cheek in her voice reminded Sakura of Gaara, somehow. But she struggled to speak, at a loss for what to say – she was expecting Gaara, not some random girl.
"Who is this?" The woman asked, now slightly irritated.
"My name is Sakura Haruno," Sakura managed, with great difficulty. Who was this woman that had answered Gaara's phone?
"Really?"
"Why is that so surprising?" Really, who was this woman?
"No reason – I'm just calculating how much money Kankuro owes me."
Huh?
"Can I talk to Gaara?"
"Sorry, no can do."
"W-why?"
The woman hesitated – Sakura could hear some whispering in the background and a shuffling that sounded like she was moving the phone from one ear to the other. Finally, the woman on the other end of this conversation gave her an answer:
"He's in a coma."
– Reason to Breathe –
'She shouldn't have told me that on the phone.'
Sakura had spent the ride to the hospital a jittery mess. Not only was she nervous to meet the woman who claimed to be Gaara's big sister, but she was terrified of seeing Gaara. A part of her hoped this was some elaborate prank, while the rest of her knew better: there was no faking the concern in Temari's voice during that thirty minute conversation. The woman really knew how to talk – she'd give Ino a run for her money, that was for sure.
She almost didn't leave the back of the taxi, only depositing the yen in the man's hand after he'd gotten irate at her. She ignored his continuing scowls and slammed the door shut, not caring that she'd been rude. She found the right room and signed in the visitor's book before knocking on the door. It opened almost immediately by some random nurse who spared her a glance (her eyes went to her hair) before moving on. Sakura peered into the room.
"Sakura?" The woman called Temari waved Sakura over, and the pinkette entered quickly. She was still apprehensive, but her concern for Gaara took precedence. He looked like death warmed up.
"The doctors say he could wake up at any time," Temari said soothingly, as Sakura took the offered chair next to the bed; the blonde's hand went to her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
"What happened?"
"After he left the station, he was mugged and left for dead," Temari said.
"Right after?"
"You saw him leave okay, right?"
Sakura nodded.
"I'm sorry," Temari said. "I should've tried to find you, but‒"
"You don't have to explain," Sakura interrupted. "We're strangers."
She gripped the pleats of her skirt tightly as she struggled not to cry, while unable to tear her eyes away from the unconscious red head. He looked like he was sleeping, except for the fact that he was hooked up to a bunch of monitors. She'd almost gone into medicine, so she knew the chances of him waking up got worse the longer he was unconscious. It was cruel, that she'd worried so thoroughly over him only to find him in this state. She'd prefer if he'd just decided she wasn't worth it. At least he wouldn't be in the hospital.
Sakura was a mess, and it showed, with or without the tears. She looked over at Temari as the woman moved to sit on the bed and faced her. The blonde had the same sympathetic look Gaara had given her that first day on the train, and before she could stop herself, Sakura let out an involuntary sob. Temari embraced her as she cried. It was so crazy, but she just let herself go, not caring that she barely knew Gaara, and that she'd only just met his sister.
But eventually, Temari's soothing words calmed her and Sakura pulled away. The older woman fetched a tissue from the other side of the hospital bed and handed it to her.
"God I'm so stupid." Sakura dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. "It's pathetic; I mean, I don't even know him, not really."
"It's not stupid, or pathetic," Temari assured her. "Just strange; I knew Gaara had a thing for you – the way he'd go on about you was proof enough. It's just nice to know it wasn't only one way."
"He's going to wake up," Sakura said quickly. "He has to."
"That's what I keep telling myself."
Sakura's response was interrupted when the door to the room opened (weird, she didn't remember closing it) and the guy standing in the threshold gave her the strangest look.
"Kankuro," Temari said. "This is Sakura. Sakura, this is Kankuro, my other brother."
Sakura greeted him politely, but he just gaped at her.
"Kankuro," Temari said warningly.
He shut his mouth. "Uh, I was just surprised." He frowned at his sister. "I thought she wasn't real."
"You thought Gaara was making her up!" Temari snapped.
Sakura ignored the siblings, shifting closer to the bed. "Gaara," she whispered. "Please wake up." She licked her lips, debating on whether or not to touch him. She'd heard that in even in comas, people could still hear you.
'What about touch?'
So she took his hand, interlocking their fingers and reaching out with her free hand to caress the weird kanji on his forehead, before shifting to move some strands of hair out of his eyes. Sakura didn't notice that Temari and Kankuro had stopped arguing to see what she was doing. She didn't hear them leave quietly, and completely forgot that they'd been there in the first place. She climbed onto the bed and hovered over him, sitting next to him; Gaara didn't respond of course, but she was watching for it anyway.
"Don't you dare," she said forcefully. "I haven't come looking for you just to watch you die."
When she'd told her mother about Gaara, the woman was ecstatic – she had been harping on at her for about four years, wanting grandchildren out of her. But it was the fairy-tales from her childhood that made Sakura bend over and kiss him softly: her own lips quivering slightly at the warmth of his skin. He wasn't cold to the touch, like she'd worried he would be.
Nothing happened.
Sighing deeply, Sakura attempted to get comfortable, not caring that when his nurse came back in, she would be in for a rude awakening. As she drifted off, exhausted from the last few days of worrying herself sick, she felt Gaara move. He shifted under her, the croaky sound of him saying her name bringing a smile to her lips. He was finally awake.
An hour later, Temari and Kankuro returned, armed with caffeine, fast food and a basket full of goodies, intent on an in-room picnic. But when they saw Sakura tucked up in the hospital bed, her arm strapped over Gaara, and her face nuzzled in his chest, they couldn't bring themselves to disturb her.
Neither of them noticed that the pale green eyes of their little brother watched their exit. Gaara had fallen asleep after waking up with Sakura getting comfortable on top of him; he'd woken up several times in the middle of the night to find the strangely intriguing pink haired girl he'd been dreaming about still sleeping with him. He tucked her in closer to his side and smiled.
It was worth getting mugged and almost dying to wake up like this. This was heaven to him.
X X X
A/N: That was crazy fluffy, with a side of angst perhaps. ;P Couldn't help myself. Hopefully it was entertaining at least. Thanks for reading, now review. ^_^