Heat swelled in visible waves from the arid sand dunes. The world was cast in the flat orange glow of mid-afternoon, turning the fine granules into blazing towers of glass and the single stream, that ran along the outskirts of the city, into a glaring mirror. The air was so thick, a tangible, living thing, that it moved like the hot breaths of some great, fiery beast. Too hot for early April.
Later in the evening, when the earth had cooled and the sun was easing off into the Western sky, people would emerge from their homes. Like an anthill stirred by the hand of a curious child, the inhabitants of the Hidden Sand village would take a collective breath and become alive once again. For now, though, most people had taken their children and animals inside, hiding away from the blistering heat of the day, perhaps playing games or napping away the hours before the temperature would become bearable once again.
Amongst these people was a nineteen year old boy, who sat staring out an open doorway, watching the sand spin in small eddies as the wind teased the grains. A heavy woven mat, which normally hung in the place of a door, was pinned off to the side. There was no need for the security of a solid, locking panel. No one came here. No one would dare.
Said boy surveyed his empty, dusty world with blue-green eyes half-closed in boredom. Had someone passed by at that moment, they may have thought their great and fearsome Kazekage to be no more, staring so unblinkingly into the desert sand. As unnaturally pale as he was, with sunken, dark eyes, he resembled a corpse, sitting in his doorway. The young man turned these morbid thoughts and others over and over again in his head before he finally shifted to stare into the sun. As the sun blinded him, hot and white, he decided...
He had to get out.
Planting his hands on the ground next to him, he hoisted himself into a kneeling position before he swept out the door. The only sign left of his presence was the carpet hanging, flapping quietly in the wind.
Gaara was bored… And unlike most boys his age, he hadn't any hobbies to keep him busy in his times of boredom. Unlike his sister, Temari, he didn't like to talk to people. Humans in general would run away screaming when he happened to pass by. If he were to be honest with himself, he was getting tired of people yelling, "Monster!" and whispering about the "red-haired demon" when they thought he couldn't hear them.
On the other hand, his brother, Kankurou, was an aloof but very dexterous individual. Being good with his hands enabled him to craft the very puppets that he used to fight with, as well as building models of a number of things. He had built a replica of the entire Hidden Village of Sand, complete with miniature citizens. It was used now, in planning strategies for placing guards and escape routes during a time of crisis.
When the redhead had expressed his boredom one-day, Kankurou had offered to let him paint some of the tiny people. Gaara, however, quickly lost his patience and threw the box of paintbrushes across the room. Kankurou had to contain his laughter when Gaara had given a rare and childish display of pouting.
"Go talk to Temari," he suggested gruffly, "She'd love to help you find a hobby…"
Though the idea of giving Temari free reign to use her forceful power of suggestion in his life was not at all appealing, he decided that at least he would be doing something to alleviate this maddening tedium. So talk to Temari, he had. She was surprisingly silent for a while before she ran to her room. Gaara twitched at the girlish giggles that emanated from beyond where he could see. Finally, she brought him a bottle of ink and a sheaf of paper. When he stared at her strangely, she laughed and pushed them into his arms.
"You like to watch people, right?" It was a rhetorical question and she didn't wait for him to answer.
"Then why don't you write what you discover about them in a journal? It's also for writing down how you feel and basically…" she paused, touching her chin thoughtfully, "thinking on paper, so to speak." She grinned widely at him when she saw him cock his head, as if considering it. "So go on!" She shooed him out the door. "Go people-watch!" With a goofy, self-satisfied grin on her face, she dropped the door flap between them.
Twitching even more now, he returned to his house on the outskirts of the village; stowing away the writing utensils for later use. It hadn't taken him long to find a subject of interest to observe. He'd gone to the marketplace; the area of greatest public activity (though he really didn't understand why. As far as he was concerned, it was an overcrowded, noisy, place that smelled like camel dung and sold cheap and worthless items. Temari loved it, though, so he supposed it had to have some verifiability.)
Within minutes, he had spotted his first target teetering along down the street, invisible past the wall of bags and boxes full of who-knew-what. He caught the few "Sumimasen"'s on the rising heat of the day as the person dodged its way through the crowded square.
The overly laden individual nearly crashed to the ground when a group of small children rushed past. However, the lucky save was pointless as, not five seconds later, there was a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and angry male accusations.
The person, who turned out to be a woman of average stature and slim build, had crashed into a cart of melons. The vendor, having lost nearly ten of the notoriously delicious fruit in the incident, was standing over her, bellowing insanely, and demanding that she pay for all of his damaged produce.
Gaara amused himself by momentarily musing about how the vendor resembled both a tomato, with his furious complexion, and a windmill as he gestured wildly, swinging his arms in wide circles.
He was snapped out of this strange train of thought, however, when he noticed the woman hold her hands before her face. The male vendor fell silent and a startled hush swept over the nosy crowd that had formed around them. The soft pit-pat of blood striking the compacted, sandy earth was audible even from his position hidden among the rafters of a nearby building.
Apparently the glassware had fallen before all else and, in her attempt to cushion her own fall, the woman-child had thrown her hands behind her, effectively slicing her palms to a bloody mess. Ignoring the blood and the vendor's sudden change in demeanor, she pulled a sum of money from a pouch that hung at her side. Throwing the cash and coins at the vendor's feet, she gingerly grabbed the bags that had managed to remain intact before walking away.
Gaara stayed a moment longer to watch the vendor pocket the money greedily before life went on as it had before, the small drama having been played out. Curious, he followed the woman to her home, sticking to the rooftops from a distance. She lived close to the northernmost end of the Hidden Sand Village, completely opposite to Gaara's home.
Setting the bags down outside her door, which, like most of the homes in the village, was not carpet but a heavy wooden panel, she paused. Glancing over her shoulder, she fished a key out of her purse, swearing under her breath as the brushed her ragged hands on something inside. Slowly, she managed to drag in all the bags, two-by-two. It was actually rather amusing to watch her try to hold the door open with one foot while she pivoted on the other, and hopped her way in. Even after the sun went down and she finally closed the door to her home, he stayed and watched.
It was only when he caught the sound of running water that Gaara made the decision to leave. He went home in silence, reveling in the quiet of his empty house in comparison to the obstreperous marketplace. By the light of a brightly-burning candle, he wrote of his encounter.
When Temari awoke the next morning, she found a small stack of papers in her kitchen, covered in fresh ink, in the long, scrawling handwriting of her younger sibling.
It wasn't long before Gaara found himself visiting the woman's house almost daily. There was always something going on. An elderly neighboring woman had asked to use the young woman's oven, and nearly burned down her house in the attempt to bake a cake for her young grandson. (Temari had had a field day reading about that one.)
Gaara found that the young woman had a cat, as she spent many hours one day chasing it around her house. Her favorite colors were aquamarine and pale violet, those being the two main colors she's painted her bedroom. Most importantly, he discovered that her name was Sunako—Child of the Sand.
She seemed fairly popular amongst the Villagers, greeting everyone in the marketplace with a warm smile and a polite "hello" in the mornings. In the afternoons, she would usually go occupy the children of the vendors by involving them in one game or another while the mothers sat nearby, supervising.
It turned out that she never liked to have anyone left out. One of the girls was too small to play ball with the other children so, while they played and rough-housed, Sunako sat in the sand and played with dolls with the little girl until her mother came for her at sundown. Sunako waved goodbye to the little girl and returned home alone, one of the little wooden dolls tucked in the crook of her arm as a parting gift. The doll soon found its place on the sill of her bedroom window.
All of that had occurred two weeks ago, though. Since then, Sunako had taken to reading outside in her garden, which was surprisingly large and fertile considering the sandy terrain of the Wind Country. She would typically begin her reading sessions at about two o'clock in the afternoon, after returning home from the marketplace, where she worked. The sessions would normally end some hours later, between four and five o'clock, punctuated only by the times she went inside to get a drink.
Gaara would always go to her home (unless he was called away elsewhere for his duties as a shinobi) before she went outside. In this span of time, he would settle himself in under the tangerine tree in the far right corner of the garden. Here he was covered just enough by the large, flowering, melon vines, which grew all along her yard, to be able to see without being seen.
In addition to being the perfect area for observation, the tangerines she grew were some of the best he'd ever tasted. They were always sweet and juicy with just the perfect tangy edge…
Though he'd never be the one to tell her that…
So it was on this day, when his boredom had reached its peak too early in the day to suit his tastes, that Gaara of the Sand made his way via rooftops to the garden of the amazing tangerine-growing Sunako. Upon his arrival, he took his seat in his usual place beneath the tree, behind the vines, and waited for the most recent object of his attention to come out. As he waited, he plucked a tangerine from its woody stem and began peeling it deftly. He breathed deeply of the fruit's sharp, citrusy scent, and relaxed against the slim trunk.
He didn't have to wait long before she strolled out onto her back porch, book in hand. She stretched her arms lazily over her head, white cotton undershirt coming up to reveal her toned belly. Lavender training pants hung low on her hips, tied loosely with a pair of knotted pull-chords. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head in a wet, curling mass. He noted absentmindedly that a few wayward tendrils has escaped to curl around her neck and ears.
It was a sight that Gaara had become accustomed to seeing. In the beginning, it had bothered him—seeing anyone in such a state of undress and relaxation seemed somehow… wrong. Humans were supposed to be naturally guarded and secretive; no one was supposed to let anyone else see them so exposed or obviously weak. They'd end up hurt or killed if they remained too long in that form. And here was Sunako prancing about in her pajamas at all hours of the day as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do so…
Gaara shook his head slowly. The woman-child he watched was indeed an oddity. She was one strange quirk after another, from her apparent fascination with Botany (in the desert no less) to her strange choice in books. Even now she was flipping open a foreign title—Romeo and Juliet by some William Shakespeare fellow…
And she had the strangest habits. While she read, she would say the words aloud, with the addition of small exclamations of glee or surprise. She spoke so clearly that, if he listened hard enough, he could actually understand what was happening in the story, however strangely it was worded. It was almost as if she was just so used to doing this that it was merely a reaction. With reading came speaking.
Sunako was halfway through a scene in which the main male character, Romeo, was hiding below Juliet's balcony listening to her rant about his name, when the back sliding door that led in to Sunako's home inched open and… her fat orange tabby darted out.
Bemused, Gaara watched as she chased the cat around the garden, a scowl etched firmly onto her face, and yelling about the cat being a "stupid, fat, pesky, irritating waste of space…" Suddenly, the cat swerved its path from a patch of blooming white strawberry flowers to the tangerine tree under which Gaara was sitting.
Panicking slightly, Gaara searched for an escape route by which he could leave without his presence being noticed. Finding none, he opted to run for it if she found him and kill her if she started screaming. However, right before the fat cat darted into the bushes, Sunako scooped it up into the air and plopped herself on the ground, holding the cat up by her front paws. Tugging gently on one paw after another, she admonished, "And just where did you think you were going?"
The cat mewled loudly, staring over Sunako's shoulder and straight into the foliage that was currently hiding Gaara's position. Scowling, she nagged at the cat. "Hey! Look at me when I'm scolding you, you aggravating ball of fluff." After another bout of the cat's incessant yowling, she turned, looking from the cat to the bush and back to the cat in confusion. Gaara swore he could hear the Wheel of Fate turning in the silence. He had only just discovered this decently interesting person, and now he was going to have to kill her. He would be bored all over again!
"Ne, Momo-chan… do you have a friend in there?" Wrapping one arm around the still-yowling feline, she reached forward with the other, pushing the vines aside…
…Only to find herself pinned on her back on the ground with a hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Momo wriggled out of her grip and jumped a few feet away, fur on end, hissing manically. Without removing his hand, Gaara manipulated the slim girl to her feet before dragging her into the house and into the first room he could find.
This room just happened to be a very small broom closet. Pressing her against the far wall, pinning her there with his body acting as a living barrier, he glared at her and hissed, "If you scream, I'll kill you." He stared at her for a long moment, as if to make sure that his point was clear. After receiving no outward response, he removed his hand slowly. Sunako sucked in a deep breath of air and he noted somewhere in the back of his mind that she smelled nice.
However, that thought was cut short by a lilting tone. "Well I wondered who was eating all of my tangerines…" She smiled brightly at him and he found it difficult to come up with a scathing remark. Instead, he opted just to step away from her, removing all physical contact and taking himself away from the pleasant scent. He'd be sure to analyze it… later.
Finally, he thought of something to say. "Are you daft?" When her only response was the quirking of an eyebrow, he questioned, "I just threatened your life and am currently a lingering threat, and all you can think to say is 'I wondered who was eating my tangerines?' You're daft, woman, you must be."
Her eyebrow twitched impossibly higher as she laughed again, the sound somehow musical yet airy. "I could be daft," she retorted, "Or I could simply want out of my closet. After all, small spaces tend to make me nervous." She gave him a sheepish smile and, not knowing what else to do, Gaara swung the door open and stepped out. She followed quickly after him.
They both stood awkwardly silent outside the closet door, fidgeting and not meeting the other's eyes. However, this moment only lasted a few seconds before Gaara turned to leave. Sunako's arm snaked out, catching his wrist and tugging lightly. Gaara felt the sand stir expectantly in the gourd on his back, waiting for his command. "Anou, Gaara-sama, would you like to stay for lunch?"
He stood there for a long moment, completely silent. Then, his eyes narrowed and he jerked away so suddenly that Sunako stumbled forward, almost in to him. He glared at her spitefully. "Why do you want Gaara, the Desert Monster, to stay? Is it so that you can go into the marketplace tomorrow and tell them all how you survived an encounter with the Raccoon Beast?"
She looked at him strangely before stepping forward, her hand fluttering up to brush the red bangs away from the kanji on his forehead. This time, he had to consciously restrain the movement of the sand as it trickled across the skin of his back. She looked at him calmly. "Funny," her voice was low—almost a whisper, "You don't look like a monster to me."
He jerked away, staring at her for a long moment. Calculating. Deciding. Without a word, he waved his hand and procured a mound of sand behind him. It swirled slowly, forming the shape of a stool. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat down.
Understanding his actions as a form of assent, the young woman grinned. "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then?" Without waiting for an answer, which he wouldn't have given even if she had, Sunako turned on her heel and disappeared behind a corner, and into a spacious kitchen. There was a clattering of dishes, the click of a propane stove, and the sound of a knife on a cutting board.
While he waited, Gaara peered around her house curiously. Whereas he lived a Spartan lifestyle, Sunako lived an Athenian's. From where he sat, in a main hallway of sorts, he could see a comfortable-looking couch, large enough to lie out fully and use as a bed. An elaborate Fire Country rug sprawled across the floor; its brilliant red and gold weave standing in bright contrast to the rich chocolate brown sofa. The walls were painted a calm light beige color, pretty standard really, and decorated in various pieces of artwork. Most were abstract works of flowers.
The piece that held his attention, however, was a shadowbox hanging. Part of this was because it moved. Within the shadowbox were four hourglasses, each filled with a different colored sand. Gaara stood and walked across the large living room to stand before it. He watched as the first, a glass filled with sand as pale and fine as snow, spun slowly around on its axis, sifting the sand from one bulb to the other and back. At the neck of the glass was a pair of brass wings, extended as if it would take flight.
The second was a glass of pale green sand. The bars that held the wooden caps at the end of each glass bulb were decorated so that they looked like creeping vines of ivy. It rocked gently back and forth. However, in a slow, stuttering trickle, the sand drifted upward, from the bottom half to the top. There was a sharp gasp from the kitchen and the clang of metal against the sandstone tile. A small trickle of sand returned to the bottom half before it began its upward venture anew. Gaara's eyes roamed to the third glass.
This was a strange trinket. The bars were carved in the shape of a thorny vine. The glass itself was cracked at the top. The sand, crimson as the buds on a desert cactus, was pooled in the bottom bulb. It did not move.
The last one was perhaps the strangest of them all and surprisingly morbid in comparison to its colorful companions. The glass was filled from top to bottom with glittering black sand. It was held on its side as if it had been knocked over, and the posts were decorated in the shapes of bones. A grinning skull lay at each end of each post.
Gaara stared for a long while at the box, trying to decipher the meaning of each hourglass, their strange movements, and positions. After some time, the scent of green tea reached him and he turned away from the box. Standing behind him, trays of food in hand, was Sunako. She gestured for them to sit outside with the tilt of her head. Nodding curtly in assent, he led the way, sliding open the back door.
At the wave of his hand, the chair of sand returned to its more fluid form before reforming behind him. He waited for her to sit at the small metal table before seating himself, the product of endless drills in proper etiquette by Temari and Kankurou. Both were determined to morph him into a cultured Kazekage.
Gaara, however, didn't trust the food or the drink. Sunako seemed to find this amusing. "Aww… it's just a turkey sandwich and tea. It's not going to bite you or explode." When Gaara still didn't move, she pulled his plate towards her. She took a sip of his tea and set it down before ripping off a small piece of his sandwich and popping it into her mouth. Chew, chew, and swallow.
He watched her carefully as she pushed his plate back towards him. Satisfied that she hadn't turned purple or keeled over, Gaara took a tentative bite of his sandwich. He was tempted to smirk. It was surprisingly good for such a simple meal. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the food before sipping at his tea.
"It's not too sweet, is it?" Sunako was holding her sandwich, looking at him with a curious expression. She looked as if she were waiting for him to explode, which was understandable considering his earlier behavior. With a strange sense of unreality, he shook his head and nearly started when she broke into a wide grin. She ate the rest of her sandwich in happy silence. He'd already finished his.
After she was done, she took a long drink of her green tea, draining her ceramic cup in one try. When she was sure that there were no drops clinging to the bottom, she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. She turned her head to look at the garden. The cat, Momo, was romping about, attempting to catch a translucently white butterfly. She smiled fondly at the sight of the feline tripping over itself and rolling about in the high grass. Gaara sipped his tea and watched her for a few long moments before deciding to break the silence.
"What was that strange box in your living room?" She turned her head to look at him in surprise. Her expression darkened momentarily before returning to its original carefree wonder.
"I assume you mean the one with the hourglasses?" He nodded. Sighing, she looked away, staring into empty space. "It's an heirloom of sorts. One like it is given to all of the first-born females in my family. I received that one from my grandmother."
She didn't seem willing to add more so Gaara didn't ask, though he was wont to find out this "heirloom's" purpose. He understood the need for personal secrets. After all, as a shinobi, Gaara was no stranger to the world of hidden truths.
The sparing conversation between them was all small talk after that. Sunako asked if he had any siblings. She laughed at how he described Kankurou as a "dominating, dense, whiny fool who plays with dolls" and Temari as a "loud-mouthed, gossiping, pathetic excuse for a shinobi." It was the most he said at once in his whole time there.
"What about you?" He watched as her facial expression remained a controlled calm. However, Gaara didn't miss the shift behind her eyes. He wondered for a moment what could have caused that brief look of deep pain before deciding that he didn't care.
She began slowly, as if trying to choose her words with care. "I have two brothers. They're twins, older than me by four years. Their names are Tsuki and San. They'll be pranksters forever, that's for certain." A wistful tone came to her voice. "They are so annoying. I was always their favorite target when we were younger because I would get so… mad… when they played their tricks on me."
She smiled suddenly and faced him, leaning forward excitedly, as if sharing a secret. Her pale blue eyes sparkled like the rare glassy streams that could be found in the arid desert country. "They dyed my hair pink once. It was the funniest thing, now that I remember it. My hair used to be so light that it absorbed practically any color. They put the dye in my shampoo one morning. I was in such a rush that I didn't even look in the mirror, just ran straight to where I was supposed to be. Everyone who saw me, which was a lot of people, mind you, called me Princess Pinky for months afterwards. Ooh, I hated them for that."
Gaara was struck suddenly by the image of a particular Konoha kunoichi with natural, alarmingly pink hair. Somehow imagining Sunako with Sakura's hair and in her red and green attire was humorous to say the least. He smirked.
The hour was late and the sun was already casting its final dying rainbow across the sky. Sunako rolled her teacup in her palms, the coiled ceramic ware twirling slowly in her small hands. Lowly, she whispered, "It's getting late, Gaara-sama. Sundown will be soon. I'm sure someone's wondering where you've been all day." Deftly, she took the empty teacup from his hands, scooping up the plates in the same motion, and slid the door open with her foot.
Without being asked to, Gaara followed her into the house and slid the door shut right as Momo darted in. He felt… off… in this house, he decided. It was as if everything on the outside had stopped moving as soon as he stepped within its confines. This feeling wasn't frightening, just strange. Unnerving. Unreal. It perturbed him on a deep level. Perhaps, though, this was because he couldn't place its source?
Mentally, he shrugged; nothing could harm him. He was Gaara of the Sand. In his desert world, he was invincible and nothing could touch him. Strangely, this thought provided him with a sense of needed comfort.
He stood behind Sunako; though not nearby. Gaara leaned against the entryway nearest the hall from where he had originally spotted the shadowbox art. It was a large arch that led to an even larger kitchen. The kitchen itself was large enough to accommodate four or five chefs during the blistering afternoon rush. She stood with her back facing him, washing the dishes that they'd used.
There was silence hanging between them. It wasn't an amiable silence, like that shared between friends, nor was it an awkward one. It was merely a space lacking in words, as comfortable as silence can be between strangers. It stretched on until she shut off the tap with a sharp click. She turned and seemed momentarily surprised to see him still standing there.
Suddenly, she shook her head and grinned. "I'm sorry, that was my mistake. I'll show you to the door. I forgot this is the first time you've actually been inside my house." Calmly, she walked past him and led the way down the hall and around a corner. She reached for the door handle and he noted that it hadn't been locked.
'She must be trusting. How naïve.' He nodded to her before stepping out the door. She stood at the door, leaned against the frame, watching him go. A distant sad look crossed her face, as if touched by a memory. She didn't shut the door until Gaara disappeared from her vision over the rooftops, his preferred method of transportation.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the Hidden Village of Sand was immersed in darkness. Late that night, when the rest of the day-walking world had wandered far into the Land of Dreams, the only one who was barred from that world sat up, ink stains blooming across his fingertips and palms, writing. His handwriting raced across the pages in a uniform scrawl.
He had taken so to writing that Temari had bought him his own author's desk, which had inkwells built into one of the drawers. As a belated birthday gift, Kankurou had given him a set of finely made wooden quills and thick stack of durable parchment. The quills, of course, had been made by Kankurou's own hand.
Without warning, the sculpted wooden tip ceased its rapid movements across the thick paper. Ink flooded that single point, seeping into the words around it, effectively ruining the whole page. Gaara stared at it impassively. Clouds covered the moon, casting the room into darkness. After a moment, the haze separated and revealed the room to be less one redheaded teenager.
Sunako woke from a shaky sleep, plagued by fears and memories amplified into nightmares by the monsters in the Land of Dreams. Clutching the front of her shirt tightly, she forced her body to stop shaking and released the breath she'd taken to scream. Flinging the covers roughly from her body, she stumbled out of bed and to her bathroom down the hallway. The door slammed behind her. There was the sound of running water and a small crash before Sunako stumbled back into the hall. She narrowly missed falling down the stairs before she grabbed the wooden railing to steady herself.
A few minutes later, she fell back into her bed. Her windows creaked open, the desert night winds causing it to come to a stop with a bang. Sheer white curtains billowed like twin pillars of smoke. In a low voice, she called out to him in the darkness.
"My garden is one thing, but hiding in my room to watch me is an extreme invasion of personal space. If you're going to watch me, do it where I can see you." She strained out the last sentence, as if it were difficult to say. The feeble tone of her voice sounded odd in comparison to the ringing melody and jovial countenance his mind recalled from earlier.
He stepped from behind the curtains. Half-shrouded in darkness, he merely stared at her for a long moment, piecing together why he was there.
Suddenly, her laughter rang out. It had a sharp, brittle sound to it that grated against his senses. That same tired voice called to him again. "You have a question, don't you?" When he didn't respond, she beckoned to him, motioning for him to sit at the edge of her bed.
He started. Taking a step back, a briefly shocked expression crossed his face. It was nothing more than a small widening of sea green eyes and a stunned parting of the lips, but it was enough.
"I won't bite you, I promise. I do, however, have the tendency to snap." Her smile had once again returned and he found that it agitated him.
"Don't make light of me," he commanded, gritting out the words tightly. His hands clenched into a fist at his side. Eyes narrowed into slits, and he began mumbling under his breath. A dusting of sand began swirling around his body.
She stared at him with a somewhat bored front. In a monotone voice, she stated, "While in this house, I will make light of whomever I wish." She sighed, seeing him become angrier. "However, what I said was meant as a joke towards myself and a friendly tease towards you." She gave him a flat look, a combination of exhaustion and boredom. "It appears you'll have nothing to do with joking, though."
This didn't calm Gaara in the slightest. Sand flew around him in a glittering storm. For a split second, he disappeared from her vision. Anticipating his move, she braced herself, hands up. This didn't stop him from finding his fingers around her small throat, constricting the passage to prevent her breathing. It did, however, keep him from slamming her against the wall so hard that he crushed her esophagus.
On the other hand, her head crashed so sharply against the lavender-painted surface that she saw stars. A dull throb bloomed at the base of her skull and she winced as she felt wet heat slip down her neck and seep into her shirt. 'Well,' the voice in the back of her head mentioned dryly, 'the two coppers wasted for this shirt could have gone towards something more useful.'
Gaara stared at her, waiting for her to either stop breathing or open her eyes. It was only a few seconds before the dark crescents that lined her eyes separated, revealing defiant blue orbs. In her eyes, he saw pain and anger. There was a slight hint of disappointment. However, no matter how deeply he searched, he didn't sense any fear for her life.
He pushed away gruffly and Sunako fell back against her pillows. Gaara turned away from her, sitting on the edge of her bed. He stared at the carpeting, a heavy frown painted on his face. Finally, he asked his question in a voice so soft that it was barely audible.
Sunako leaned forward, still rubbing her neck, already feeling the soft tissue swell there. "Why didn't I scream?" Gaara nodded. She paused. "You mean just now?"
Gaara glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. His voice was still airily soft. "Now. Before. At all." He seemed nervous, which was a surprising change from the aggression he'd displayed not a minute before. She waited a moment before answering, taking time to observe his seemingly unconscious actions.
He twiddled his thumbs. He cracked all of his knuckles. He netted his fingers together, tapping the fingertips of one hand against the knuckles of the other and vice versa. Finally, he uncrossed his fingers and began the pattern again, starting with twiddling his thumbs. Sunako could have laughed aloud. The infamous Gaara, the vessel of the Raccoon Beast, was fidgety when nervous.
Instead, she opted to answer his question before he really lost his patience. It wasn't the answer he was expecting, though. "Why didn't you just kill me?"
He swung his head around to face her. On his face was the same startled expression from earlier. A widening of the eyes. His lips parted as if to say something before they snapped closed. Suddenly, he was glaring again. When he spoke, his words held a venomous edge. "How do you know I wasn't going to kill you?" he demanded.
She didn't answer him. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she reached over to the small table beside her bed. On it was an oil lamp, a notebook of sorts, and a simple sand-filled hourglass. In this one was a pale blue powder-like sand that glittered in the moonlight. It had barely enough sand to fill half of the bottom bulb.
Getting irritated by her lack of response, he snatched the collar of her shirt and jerked her towards him. One of her hands left the hourglass to grab his. He clenched his fist tighter and jerked on her, forcing himself to stay angry. "Answer me," he gritted out.
She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes with a soft expression that caused something in his stomach to jump. Sunako sighed tiredly. "It's just not my time yet. I just know."
He stared at her for a moment. His grip loosened and his eyes narrowed.
Setting the blue hourglass back on the bedside table, she freed both of her hands. Gently, she coaxed his hand into releasing her shirt. He pulled the limb back towards him, looking away from her and, once again, trying to burn a hole in her carpet with his eyes.
"I don't understand." When his look intensified, Sunako really began fearing for her carpet. He rubbed his fingers together and his attention was caught by the slick red stains that had joined the ink there. 'Blood.' Without notice, Gaara stood quickly, knocking Sunako onto her back.
He had one leg out the window, hands braced on the frame, before her voice drifted to him. He looked at her over his shoulder. She was standing by the end of her bed. When he paused, she smiled and said his name again. "Hey, Gaara, next time you feel like stalking me, use the front door like everyone else. Don't be a stranger."
Then, he was gone, leaving the curtains to billow in his wake as dawn cast the world in a dull gray glow.
