People have no hearts. This is a simple fact Sabaku no Gaara has learned over years of being abused and neglected in the never ending cycle of gender dysphoria.

It burned.

Every breath in tore his throat to shreds, at if the oxygen turned to razors the second it entered his mouth. Clutching at the fabric on his chest, laying on his back against the tattered blanket that covered his bed, Gaara clenches his eyes shut. He struggled to control his rapid breathing, counting to three as he inhaled, and then to two as he exhaled. It was a technique taught to him by the only woman in his life, his eldest sibling and only sister. She does everything in her power to help him, he knew this. He knew he could rely on her.

Yet he couldn't breathe, a strangled noise tumbling clumsily out of his mouth as he choked on the air he so desperately needed to breathe. His knuckles were white, the fabric of his shirt entrapped in his petite fist. He presses his free hand to his mouth in attempt to keep every whimper, cry and scream contained so that he didn't wake his father. He didn't need to be in any more pain than he already was. He couldn't take another beating, and he couldn't take his siblings stepping in to save him again.

His father's voice echoed in his head, shouting Kankuro is my only son!

It became harder to breathe. Tears leaked from his eyes as he curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to his knees, crushing his lungs beneath the extra weight on his chest. He shuddered and shook his head, the echoing voice in his head growing louder and louder until the silence of the room was shattered by the gentlest knock at his bedroom door.

"Time for school," Temari whispers through the door. Gaara heard her footsteps slowly fade away as she walked down the stairs. He knew his father was still asleep since Temari had awoken him. The bastard was probably going to sleep his hangover away. Maybe he would be awake by the end of the day, though Gaara prayed that he wouldn't. Slowly, and very, very shakily, he stood, walking over to his full-body mirror. He gazed into his own eyes for a moment and wondered if anyone saw the sorrow in them as he did. They were tired, exhausted eyes. He had to look away. Then the tear trails were wiped from his cheeks, his chest bound, loose boxers hung over his wide hips. He dressed himself and, yes, applied eyeliner before slinging his bag over one sore shoulder and gracefully shooting down the stairs.

He was out of the house, without breakfast nor sleep. He kept his eyes down as he walked down the sidewalk. Once again, breathing was difficult. This time, however, it was pleasant; every ache in his ribs and every pained expansion of his lungs reminded him that the world saw him for who he is in his mind. With that thought in his mind, he allowed his lips to curl up into a smile, savoring this moment of silent victory between himself and the world. He only ever smiled in solitude, afraid a smile and the brightness in his dysphoric eyes would reveal his secret to the world. Somehow the idea that smiling was a sign of weakness had wormed its way into his head. No one could convince him otherwise.

His stomach cramped and his footsteps faltered. He came to a stop and placed a hand over his core. A sigh passed his lips as his fingers began to tremble. He forgot pads.

How could he forget?

This hellish week almost never snuck up on him, how had its presence eluded him until now. There were always warning signs, sore breasts, unusual irritability; "It could be hunger pains," he tries to rationalize with himself. "Or-or just a stomach ache. Maybe a stomach bug, the flu- "

Anything would be better than getting his period at a time like this. Regardless, he continued walking. He pressed on towards the school, passing a group of girls gossiping on their walk to Konoha High. They stopped to scrutinize him, a pink-haired teen scrunching her nose in disgust. She whispers to a blonde with all-too-revealing clothes, "He's such a faggot."

He couldn't let his steps falter this time. He kept walking, not glancing at the girls even once. He had only been here for a week, but he knew who was disgracefully rude and who wasn't. Getting into a fight with them would result in his ass being kicked to oblivion and his secret being revealed to the rest of the school. No one could know. No one at all, so he kept on walking as if the comment hadn't bothered him in the slightest. It did, though. It did. It always did. He bit back a snide remark about the girl and chewed lightly on the ring piercing his bottom lip and reminding himself that he would most likely never have to talk to that girl. Hopefully…

He ran into something-

Someone.

"Ah-! I'm sorry." He looks up to see who exactly he had run into, fearful that it could be someone much bigger and more aggressive than himself. This person, however, happened to be a tall girl with lavender eyes and navy hair. She was lovely. Gaara's cheeks immediately flush three times redder than his hair.

"It- It's p-perfectly fi-fine!" the girl stutters. Her face was just as red as his. Their eyes darted away from each other's, then back, and the silence was thick with awkward. Perhaps this would turn out like it often did in the movies, where they would run into each other, become friends, and eventually a couple- that was wishful thinking. She was probably straight, which shouldn't be a problem, but often is. A sharp jab in his core reminded Gaara that he needed to head to the restroom. "I-I'll see you around," he says, and walks around her towards the school building. The doors had opened maybe five minutes before, and many of the students were waiting outside, huddled in their small groups and spreading gossip about their schoolmates. Gaara was inside, dashing down the hall and occasionally bumping into the occasional loner on his quest to locate the restroom once again. The school's layout was redundant and confusing, ridiculous in his opinion, especially compared to Suna Highs.

Heaven came into sight, and without thought, Gaara was in the men's restroom and headed to a stall.

His boxers were clean, blood free, but the first chance he got, he was heading to Temari to get a pad. Despite the continuing stomach cramps, he let out the softest sigh of relief and smiled.