Thanks to those of you who reviewed, that being TastyG and AkariWolfPrincess.

Gaara's stomach flipped faintly as he watched the tailor fold back the hem of his sleeve, the man's fingers brushing against the royal's wrist. Normally, his father summoned the live-in maids for occasions such as these, so the young heir wasn't used to frequenting shops on his own; in fact, he could count on his fingers all the times he'd left the palace before he'd been named the Fifth Kazekage, the Fifth King, on occasions that were not related to him being sent off to war. And yet here he stood stock still in broad daylight in this tailor's shop, and though he'd never admit it, the proximity of the man who, just like everyone else, was outside his comfort zone made him incredibly tense.

But his anxiousness paled in comparison to the tailor's.

The clothier snipped cautiously at the material, carefully cutting along the marked edges drawn along the inside of his client's sleeve. His hands had been shaking madly since the moment the heir had walked through the door, and for the umpteenth time that morning he dropped his blade. Quickly stuttering his apologies, the needle worker fetched his tool from the floor. Gaara quietly reassured the flustered man that his blunder was tolerable. This did nothing, however, to ease the tailor's stress. The moment he risked stealing a glance up at his liege was his undoing, however, as the heir was peering back down at him with wide, analytical eyes. The former King had been a stoic, strict leader, but the man hadn't been feared since the womb, unlike his youngest son. As the man went back to work on his garments, Gaara's mind drifted back to the task at hand in only a matter of hours. Accompanying the thought was the strange sensation of his stomach churning again. For a moment, he thought he might be sick.

"That there was the last adjustment, my Lord. How, ah… does it fit? Is it alright?"

Gaara brought the sleeve to eyelevel, examining the hem.

"It's better than it was."

"Oh. Ah, well… Here. I can f-fix—"

"No, it's alright. This will do."

The clothier fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting his weight between his feet. He fixed his gaze on Gaara's hem, preferable to maintaining eye contact with his soon-to-be King.

"Lady Temari warned that if the task was not completed to perfection this time, she'd have my job, so, please, I beg of you… And… and b-besides… none before have taken your measurements, so… please allow me to… to do this right, this time."

Leave it to Temari to threaten others with their livelihood at the idea of an error. He rolled his eyes, musing that sometimes he believed his sister would make a better leader for this country than either of her brothers. Being a female, however, her position took the back seat to her male kin. Despite the fact that he could surely contest Temari for the right to fire a tailor, the ensuing argument would have been pointless, and easily avoided. He held his wrist out to the needle worker, resigned.

"Very well."

"Thanks to ye."

The man turned Gaara's wrist in his hands, observing the fault in his work.

"If you don't mind me saying, milord… the rumors of your volatility seem to be false."

The clothier's admission brought a wry smile to the heir's lips.

"I can be plenty volatile."

"Can't we all when pressured, Lord Gaara? I have heard many… horrible things about you… you and your temper. When I first heard that I was the one who'd be outfitting you for your inauguration robes, well, I… I was terrified." A soft grunt bubbled up from the tailor as he tried to clear his throat. "Shamefully… I admit that I had nightmares for days."

Gaara pursed his lips at the clothier's admission. For what seemed to be the first time in hours, he lifted his gaze from the man. Shifting his eyes to the window, a familiar pain began to creep into the Prince's chest. He idly wondered if the passerbys recognized his face. Could they pin him down accurately as their soon-to-be King? Or did they look at him and see nothing but a monster?

"You wouldn't be the first. Nor the last."

"Please don't misunderstand, milord. That wasn't an insult mean to offend you. Rather… you've surprised me a great deal."

The clothier cleared his throat again, his lips pressed into a firm line. "At first, my response to this task was to decline the work. But I knew I couldn't. Being summoned by the Princess to take the Prince's measurements is supposed to be an honor, not a death sentence. Had I declined, I'm sure she would have striped me of my profession, and without work, I would be as good a dead man anyway. I'd have starved, and died a beggar's death. My second idea was to get drunk, and as that sounded far more reasonable, that's what I did. I'm not married, I have no children, and I haven't even begun to taste much of wealth. I'd thought, hell, if I'm going to be killed by this guy before I've even lived, I might as well enjoy one last night of life and do what I can while I'm still breathing. Others there jokingly began to place bets on whether or not I'd truly die. That gave birth to a bet of, 'how quickly will he die? After an hour? A day? A week?' Once I was drunk enough, I was able to shake the feeling of fear that had gripped me ever since I'd received the commission from Lady Temari, and partake in the grim humor of my own death. And yet, after all this time… I am so very ashamed of my childish prejudices, Lord Gaara. Not even having ever met you before, I bought into every single one of the foolish manmade stories that get passed around this city, and I let the fear of a fairy tale monster stain my view of you before I'd even seen your face. Milord, you defy every prejudice I'd ever heard of you. You're not the nightmarish beast I'd heard so much about. I wonder how such fables even came to be, in light of the patient and soft-spoken man you are. I have long since abandoned my irrational fears of you, and have nothing but high hopes for you as King. I… merely thought that you should know this."

Once again Gaara found himself staring at the tailor in wonder. The man was clearly bothered by Gaara's presence, and yet he retained the ability to speak frankly.

'My brother,' he mused, 'is the same.'

If only the man knew how real the monster truly was.

"You are bold."

A soft clink resonated as the scissors hit the floor again, followed by a soft choking noise.

"I pray… that you are not offended, Lord?"

"No."

The clothier sighed, taking care to steady his hand as he positioned the scissors at Gaara's sleeve. After a moment's hesitation, he closed the blades.

"Let me ask you one question."

"Anything, milord."

"If you've long since cast aside your fear of me, why do your hands still shake?"

The tailor chuckled nervously, reaching into his coat pocket for his handkerchief. Folding it, he dabbed at the sweat that had gathered on his brow.

"My apologizes, milord, for it is not you that intimidates me. It is your sis… ah, I mean, the Princess. After all, she swore she'd have my job if I failed to produce an inauguration robe for you that measured up to her high tastes!"

Gaara's mouth wrenched in an awkward way, relief washing over him as the sickening feeling in his stomach began to subside.

'He isn't scared of me. Not me.'

"What is your name?"

"Tachibana Sumae, Lord."

"Sumae, you will not lose your job. I will make certain of that."

"I'd be very appreciative of that, Lord Gaara."

Gaara nodded once before his eyes lifted once again to the window in time to catch the wide, overly-curious gaze of a brown-eyed young girl, perhaps in her early or mid-teens as she peered into the shop. In her arms she carried a small lidded wicker basket.

Temari had once suggested that he make himself seem more "approachable". The heir often appeared standoffish and withdrawn when interacting with others, so his sister devised a solution for him to counter that.

"Smile, Gaara. Make them feel comfortable talking to you."

Gaara forced the right corner of his lips to quirk upwards. He watched as her cheeks flushed, his effort rewarded with a toothy grin. Her expression gave him boldness, and he struggled to pull his own countenance to match hers.

'Not everyone fears me. Not anymore.'

Five months since his inauguration, and once again apprehension filled Gaara's heart.

He hadn't anticipated that running the country would be easy, and he thought he had been prepared. But the social graces that being King required often left him weary and confused, not used to having so many people care about the way he held a fork, or how high his cloak swayed when he walked, yet still expected him to make decisions for his people, never faltering on the more intricate details of the nobility lifestyle.

And yet ironically, he found most often that it was the small things that gave him the most pleasure, as well as the most anxiety.

"It's time, mi'lord."

But Gaara had already known this before the maid had said a word. He'd been watching the sky dim, anticipating it all day. With a curt nod, he rose to his feet and held out his arms as she swept the robe Sumae had made for him many months ago around his shoulders.

The halls were quiet, save for the footsteps of Gaara and his handmaiden, who hastily fell into step behind him after his hurried departure from his rooms. Everyone else, from the nobles to the castle servants, was already present in the courtyard, patiently awaiting the arrival of their King. Had he had his own way, Gaara would have spent his entire day milling about in the courtyards, lost in the daydream he'd given his mind over to anyway. But no, the wheel that was Suna would not stop turning for the sake of his daydream and he, being the King, had to press on and find better usages for his time. No longer was he a tormented twelve year old boy whose freedom was his own in part because his existence was ignored. His time and mind was valuable to others now, but it came at the price of his personal freedom— an exchange he gladly made time and time again.

He could never have the years back that his father had stolen from him, nor the years that the boy had stolen from himself in his bitterness and rage. But he'd be damned if he would sit and brood over the years laid ahead for him as the King of his country. He would reconcile with the time he'd lost, and mourn it no longer.

Temari met her brother and his handmaiden as they approached the balcony doors. He tuned out the words she spoke, becoming enraptured instead with the paper fixture in her hands. After a moment, she lifted the lantern to his chest in offering. Gaara carefully accepted the lantern into his hands as his brother opened the door before them, bowing as he swept his hands out to his side with a broad grin to the King. With a stiff nod, Gaara walked out onto the balcony with his siblings at his side.

Stepping up to the railing, Gaara raised the lantern to his chest, over the garden below. His eyes scanned the terrace, his chest rapidly swelling with a sensation of happiness that, until recently, had been foreign to him. All of the council members and palace residents were standing in the courtyard, waiting for the first lantern, his, to be released.

His entire childhood, he had watched on in agonizing silence as his father had done this very action for his elder siblings year after year, while his own birthday was ignored entirely. At first, he had cried over the rejection; then, he convinced himself he didn't care if anyone knew he was alive, and took his frustration out on others. Until the announcement that Gaara would succeed their father over Kankuro, most of the country had been oblivious to the fact that Lord Kazehiko had two sons. He had grown older, but no one had cared.

Now, it was he that launched the lanterns personally.

Today was January nineteenth. And tonight, he would finally watch as balloons took to the sky in honor of him.

A hand came to rest on Gaara's shoulder. He turned to the owner, his sister beaming with pride.

"Whenever you're ready, Gaara."

The King turned back to the terrace overlooking his Capital Suna. Resting his left hand on the railing, he rose the other into the air, lifting his lantern. With a gentle push the lantern was airborne, the sole contrast of glowing red against the otherwise clouded sky. When Kankuro and Temari launched their own lanterns, Gaara watched in wonder as someone directly below him lit their lantern, igniting a chain reaction across the palace grounds. The lights spread like a wildfire, slowly rising to follow his own light into the sky in a collective wave. His right hand clutched at the banister on the balcony until his knuckles were white. The shudder that ran down Gaara's back was not missed by his elder brother, whose stomach began to churn, thoughts of Gaara's prior instability racing through his head.

"You okay, jan?"

Kankuro peered at his brother curiously out of the corner of his eyes, regarding the young King warily. Gaara had begun to confide in him within the past few months, but that didn't mean that the boy was suddenly above throwing a fit, as he had been notorious for doing.

"I'm…" The King fumbled with his vernacular, searching for a word that could properly describe the emotions blossoming within his chest.

The country, its people, its welfare… they were all his now. Never in his life had he ever anticipated standing in his current position, an observer and sovereign ruler to a land of people that celebrated his life as he governed over them.

No. There were no words to describe these feelings.

"… happy, I suppose."

"You 'suppose'?" Kankuro repeated, his face straining to maintain a mask of indifference. His tone, however, betrayed his incredulity.

Gaara shifted forward, out from beneath the warmth of Temari's hand. Gazing down at his subjects, he once again had trouble finding words to pin his feelings with.

"My entire life, no one has openly cared about my birth. I was regarded more as a feared weapon instead of a prince. Never was I treated with the same faithful care as you two, who were celebrated as noble children while I was a monster. Though I was also of royal blood, I was sent out to fight this country's wars while our father crossed his fingers behind his back in hopes that his enemies would erase the existence of the mistake he'd made in sealing Shukaku me. I thought I hated this country, and everyone in it, because I thought I was alone. And though perhaps I once was, I am not on my own any longer. That boy from Capital Konoha, he… although he was considered a beast the same caliber as me, he never saw things the way I did. He showed me there can be happiness in living for someone besides yourself… happiness, something I believed I'd never truly feel, and yet… Happiness, joy, elation… These are all words I could use to explain how I feel, but they all pale in comparison to the actual feeling."

"Gaara…"

As he stared in awe at the back of his head, Kankuro felt the urge to hug his younger brother. Never had Gaara shared his feelings so openly, aside from the occasional reminder of how much he hated his family, or how easily he could kill any one of them. Casting a sidelong glance at his sister, Kankuro noticed that even she was stock still, her mouth shaped in a perfect O as she stared at their brother in shock.

"You've… been given a difficult hand, Gaara. Had you been born in my place and I in yours, then our roles would have been—"

"I don't want your fate, Kankuro," Gaara swiftly intervened. He turned his head to gaze at his elder brother, finally tearing his eyes away from the lanterns that were quickly fading in the distance. "I want to be needed even with my own."

Kankuro quickly closed the space between himself and his brother before he lost the gall to do so. Could he touch him? Or rather the better question was, would Gaara even let him? Temari had touched his shoulder. Gaara had always hated to be touched, and yet he'd seen her breach that unspoken rule several times in the past month.

He just wanted to finally stake his claim on the title, 'big brother'.

Before he overthought the gesture, he reached out, pulling his brother into his side in an awkward embrace.

"You're gonna do this country good, jan."

Before he had a panic attack or Gaara decided to kill him on the spot, Kankuro quickly released the boy, hastily backing several paces away. Gaara's face contorted into a look of shock, before being quickly replaced by a gesture Kankuro nor Temari had ever seen outside of Gaara's frequent fits of insanity as the host of the bloodthirsty Shukaku.

"I know," the King replied with a smile.