Ah, I know this is not an update for Murderous Love...Forgive me! However, I was plauged by this thought thanks to a certain song. But if I tell you the song, it will give spoilers (how uncreative T.T). Anyway, here is the first chapter to Silent Sleeper. Please know that these chapters will probably be short and that Gaara/Lee may not be in character. In any case, I do hope you will enjoy this! Please enjoy and rate!
The house at the end of the street is dark. It's a beautiful two story house, and a well-trimmed yard lays before it. There's a drive where a beat up old 79' Nova rests. Even in the dark, the car shines. It's raining outside, slow and steady. Sheets of it fall down, drenching the house, the car, and the figure across the way.
The boy stands on the sidewalk, eyes focused on the dark building in front of him. Red hair dips into his eyes, soaked by the rain falling around him. He doesn't like the rain.
Gaara has never liked the rain. He likes warm, dry weather. The kind of weather that brings sweat to his brow when he walks outside. He longs for those days. A shiver shakes him and he pulls his jacket tighter around his frame, though it's just as wet as the rest of him. But even though it's raining, Gaara can't bring himself to leave his spot.
For three nights, he's stood outside just watching. He wanted to get closer, to peer inside a window in hopes of seeing the object of his unknowable obsession. There's something inside him that stops him when he tries to take another step forward though. A rock in his stomach that plummets downward whenever he gets too close. Gaara crouches down, trying to relieve the ache in his legs. Tonight though, it will be tonight that Gaara takes the next step.
He can feel it in his chest, the need to move onwards. He's known that he wouldn't be able to walk away from this when he first saw the other boy. The boy with scars running across his body, with black hair that shined even when it was messy. The boy with deep, understanding eyes and smile that blinded the proclaimed "Un-Youthful Spirits" that tried to force themselves on Gaara.
That fateful night in the club. Gaara hadn't even seen the boy until he was standing right in front of him, shirtless and larger than life. Sweat glistened over his body under the club lights. If he hadn't been there, who knew what would have happened to Gaara. From then on, string attached itself to Gaara's heart, and anywhere that boy went, the string tugged Gaara along with him.
It was weeks before Gaara had even known his name. Of course, the name fit him. It was sweet and to the point. Nothing fancy, but it was the first time Gaara had heard the name Lee. Then three days ago, Gaara followed Lee home, and watched the sun set over the roof of his house.
Too afraid to go up to the door. Too afraid to be rejected. There are too many voices in Gaara's head, telling him what to do. It took a long time for him to decide, and tonight one voice spoke louder than others.
Slowly, he rises to his full height again. With less than confident steps, Gaara steps off the curb and heads towards the dark house. The rock inside his stomach drops again, but is ignored. This time, Gaara won't chicken out and turn away. No more standing in the rain, no more debating. The water stings his eyes so he pulls his hood over his head, hoping to slow the flow of liquid. As he approaches the house, his feet make odd squishing noises in the grass. Steadily, Gaara's breath quickens.
Gaara stops at the front door, nervous again. What if no one answers? What if he's sent away? A porch extends over the door, shielding him from the rain now. Still, water pools around his feet and falls in drops onto his face. Almost of it's own mind, his hand raises and he pushes the door bell. From inside, a hollow ringing echoes.
Then, nothing but the rain against the porch. And the heart beating unsteadily inside Gaara's chest.
Minutes pass, and the almost-silence drags on. Gaara rubs his hands together, warming them with friction. His body shakes, not entirely from the cold. His mind whispers the same phrase again and again. "Please answer, please answer." It doesn't occur to him that it's almost three in the morning. When too much time passes he can feel his resolve falter and quake. Gaara begins to turn when he hears it. The locks click, and the handle turns.
The door opens to reveal a young man in pajama bottoms. His black hair is messy, but shines nonetheless. He fixes sleep-filled onyx eyes on the figure on his front porch. Gaara's breath catches in his throat as a quiet voice fills his ears.
"Gaara?"