Prologue

Gaara sat alone in the sandbox, his fingers idly tracing designs in the white sand, his pale blue-green eyes focused on something else. A group of children, roughly his age, was playing a wild game of tag on the other side of the playground. Gaara watched them sadly, longing in his eyes but unable to join the other children in their games. His finger twitched in half-resentment, half-anger, and a smoke-like wisp of sand curled around his body.

He watched hopefully as a mother and her daughter stepped towards the playground. He carefully looked at her face, and was sure that he had not seen her before. Perhaps she did not know that the Ichibi was sealed within him, and would come play with him in the sandbox. Her mother looked around, catching Gaara's curious stare, and shot the young boy a piercing glare. Gaara withered, curling up into a tight ball while trying to blink back the salty tears.

He watched gloomily as the mother walked her child towards the large group of children, and a single tear fell softly onto the sand as he saw her chatting amiably with the rest of the children. Gaara chocked back the wave of sadness that nearly flooded him, a feeling he experienced every day but was unable to prevent self-pity from making him want to cry aloud. The pain was so great, so agonizing, Gaara felt that his heart would rip out of his body.

Another girl walked over to the playground, this time alone, and Gaara guessed she was slightly younger than he was. Sneaking a closer glance, he saw that she had raven-black hair tied into a sloppy ponytail, and sharp onyx eyes. Then he sighed, knowing that she would probably run over to the other side of the playground, and never know that he was there. The girl began walking towards the swings, but stopped, sensing someone gazing at her. She turned and saw Gaara, all alone in the sandbox, and hesitantly walked towards him.

"Hi," she mumbled shyly when she was close enough to him. She jumped into the sandbox with Gaara, brushing dust from her fingers as she inspected him.

Gaara looked at her in awe, then turned away. She was probably new to Sunagakure, and didn't know that he possessed, no, was the terrible Ichibi, Shukaku. After a week or so, she would begin to realize that he was a danger, and would play with the others, occasionally shooting a glance of pure terror at him.

The girl peered closely at him. "Hello?" she mumbled curiously.

Gaara gazed sadly at her before answering. "Hi," he finally replied.

"My name is Mikoto," the girl continued. "What is your name?"

Gaara didn't want to answer this question, but he knew he had to if he wasn't going to hurt her feelings. Deep inside his heart, what he really wanted - no, needed - was a true friend. Maybe Mikoto could be his friend...

"I-I'm Gaara," he replied hesitantly.

Mikoto was silent for a while. She's probably remembering her mother's words to stay as far as possible from a strange redhead with the same name as me, the redhead thought miserably.

"Why are you called Gaara?" Her new question shocked him. Of all the people he knew, no one had ever wondered why he was named Gaara. But when he shook his head, refusing to answer, Mikoto hastily said, "Oh, never mind."

Gaara heard a woman's voice calling Mikoto's name, most likely her mother calling her to come home. She heard it too, and stood up, brushing sand from her pants. "Okay, bye, Gaara-kun." She stepped out from the sandbox, then stopped as Gaara grabbed her hand.

"W-will you be here tomorrow?" he asked hastily, looking into her eyes. She was slightly shorter than him, and so had to look down to see into hers.

Mikoto smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Yes. See you tomorrow, then, Gaara-kun." With that, Gaara loosened his hold on her hand and she ran to her mother, with Gaara's blue-green gaze trailing after her.

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Many months had passed since their meeting, the air now slightly chillier as winter crept by. Gaara and Mikoto were now close friends, often hanging out inside the sandbox almost every afternoon when they were free from their few responsibilities.

One afternoon, the sun pale gold and hanging meekly over the various sand dunes that surrounded Sunagakure, Mikoto and Gaara were playing in the sandbox as usual. Suddenly, Hikari, one of the more bold children who always played tag on the other side of the park, popped up behind Mikoto. She squatted down beside her, casting Gaara a swift glare. "Hey," Hikari said in her usual squeaky voice. "Why are you playing with him all the time?"

Mikoto looked at Gaara, rage and rejection evident in his heavily ringed eyes. She stood up and walked next to Gaara, seemingly protecting him of all the harsh words the villagers muttered about him. "Why can't I play with Gaara-kun? He's nice to me, and doesn't go around spreading rumors about innocent people like you and your friends," she retorted hotly. A warm sensation filled Gaara's body, and a glow of happiness radiated from him. His lips formed a small smile, and he squeezed Mikoto's hand.

Hikari looked shocked. Then, in an instant, her shocked expression faded and she laughed, that horrible high-pitched shriek of hers. She tossed her long blonde hair backwards, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement. "You mean you don't know?" she giggled. She leaned forward, and whispered into Mikoto's ear, "Your little Gaara-kun is the Ichibi, Shukaku. Everyone in the village knows that, and they fear him. He is the monster that killed many of Suna's ninja when they tried to capture the bijuu and use its power for themselves. Don't you see, Mikoto-chan? He's dangerous, he could kill you." Hikari's eyes narrowed when she gazed down upon the redheaded Gaara, but her voice mocking.

Gaara flinched. He shrank back at the venom in those words. Now was the moment that he had been dreading for the few months that he had shared the strong bond of friendship with Mikoto. This was the moment when Mikoto would hate him and fear him as the others did, and abandon him once again. He braced himself for the moment... the moment this new world of his would fade away and become meaningless.

Mikoto glanced down at Gaara, but her eyes were kind and showed trust. "No."

Hikari blinked. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice shrill.

"No." Mikoto trained her onyx eyes on Hikari's silver orbs. "Gaara-kun isn't the bijuu, Shukaku. Shukaku is a monster, one who kills and has no room for mercy in his heart. But I know that Gaara-kun wouldn't do that." She took a menacing step forward; the blonde instinctively shrank back. "For the time that I've known Gaara-kun, he was kind to me. It might have been awkward talking to him in the beginning, but he never showed the lust to kill. Gaara-kun and Shukaku may both share the same body, but possess completely different minds. It is you who's wrong."

Hikari growled, then turned her back to them and stomped away in anger. Mikoto looked at Gaara and Gaara looked at Mikoto, awe in his turqoise orbs.

"Thanks," Gaara mumbled. "I would have thought that you would have started to hate me after Hikari told you-told you about the Ichibi..."

"Gaara-kun," Mikoto said sternly, squatting down beside him. "I don't hate you, and I probably never will. Nothing Hikari says will make a difference to our friendship."

"Mikoto-chan..." Gaara said. He paused and smiled at her, embracing her lightly. "Thank you so much."

Mikoto squeezed him. "No problem, Gaara-kun."

Gaara smiled, his face shining. He was bursting with joy that he had finally found a friend – a true friend who would stick by him no matter what. He glanced down at Mikoto's head, certain that he would do whatever he could to help her, too.

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It was late. The sun was well below the jagged horizon, the last feeble rays of sunshine dappling the streets of Sunagakure. All the other kids had left the playground, running home to a hot platter of food. Gaara sat alone on the swings, tightly clutching his stuffed teddy bear. His pale blue-green orbs scanned the area, searching for Mikoto's familiar silhouette against the setting sun. His appearance was calm, but deep inside anxieties were churning in his stomach.

A cold gust of wind swept past him, the leaves rustling. The sun had gone down now, and a sliver of silver showed through dark clouds. A ball of flaming colors pulsed within a street lamp, casting enough light for Gaara to continue seeking Mikoto. Many minutes passed in silence, and at last Gaara stood.

He walked silently out of the playground, heading for Mikoto's home. He had been there a couple of times, fooling around in the yard and occassionally lending her mother a hand at household chores. His slow walk turned into a quick stride as his worries increased. "She's probably just caught a cold," Gaara said aloud, reassuring himself. "Or maybe her mother gave her extra chores..." His voice faded as he reached the apartment room.

The faded curtains were pulled back from the window, and Gaara stepped closer, peeking through the narrow slit. What he saw caused him to step back in horror, a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his yelp.

The coffee table was gone. The multi-colored vases, filled with roses and tulips, had disappeared. The beautiful portraits of famous ninja Mikoto's mother had so painted had vanished. Everything had so suddenly faded into nothingness, gone without a trace.

But worst of all, Mikoto was gone.