Brief A/N: I initially (mistakenly) classified this as a GaaSaku pairing. This is GaaIno! Please forgive me!
December is in full swing when I see him next. I put off returning home for winter break as long as possible, enjoying the lifestyle I've forged for myself in college a little too much. At home I am flirty Ino, bossy Ino, maybe even cute Ino- but definitely not sexy Ino. The boys I grew up with and pined after didn't pay me much attention until I grew breasts, and by then I was practically fed up with them. Having guy friends was nice, but having sex friends is infinitely better. I feel like I used to be ashamed of one night stands, but now I can see them for what they are: fun. I'm young and hot, now is my time in the sun. I capitalize on these things more than other girls my age, but I also don't care. I could be like Sakura, studying even after the semester has ended with medical school in my sights. But studying is really not my thing: I think I've made it abundantly clear what is.
I worked a double shift and didn't get off until 9 PM, so coming home feels incredibly nice. I haven't moved apartments, but I also feel much safer at my current place now. I haven't walked in on any fights in the past three months, at least. I reach my apartment feeling drained and ready to pass out, but I manage a shower before collapsing onto the couch. I flip on the TV to fill up the horrible silence surrounding me and drift off before I can figure out what show is playing. The sound of a door closing startles me awake, and in my bleary-eyed confusion, all I can see is red. There's no movement, so I rub my eyes and allow his figure to come into focus.
He's bleeding again. I sigh affectionately at this, but catch myself and try to be angry. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I demand of him. I always lock my door. Nothing but a shrug in response. He walks past me on the couch and goes straight to the kitchen. "Are you serious?" I call after him, but he won't be stopped. "Let me clean you up a bit first," I sigh, getting to my feet slowly as I shake off sleep.
Gaara is already in my fridge when I come back from the bathroom with some tissues, disinfectant, and bandaids. I approach him slowly but he seems completely absorbed in his search, allowing me to kneel next to him with no reaction. I wipe the cut on his forehead down and dab some antiseptic on my finger before warning him, "this will hurt a bit, ok?" He nods absentmindedly but remains unaffected as I rub it on his cut. I'm pressing the bandaid down when he suddenly finds what he's looking for and stands up. He's holding a carton of eggs and some milk in his hands, with a crumpled bandaid on his forehead and an eye that seems to be swelling more as each minute passes.
"Pancakes," he hands me the ingredients delicately, and I accept them before setting them down on the counter. I want to ask why he is in my apartment at whatever ungodly hour it is, why he is bloody and bruised, and why of all the things I can make, he wants pancakes. But instead I touch his cheek softly and pretend not to see him flinch when I turn to get a mixing bowl.
I watch him eat pancakes in silence. He's lucky I'm not eating this time, so he gets the whole batch to himself. I feel like I'm in a dream, watching him eat. It's only at this moment that I realize I have missed him immensely in the past three months. I'm almost glad the realization took me this long, because it's incredibly fucked up to miss someone you hardly know. How can you feel things for someone whose sole interaction with you has been nearly killing you and eating pancakes? I guess it isn't surprising that I have developed an attachment to the only man who's visited my apartment more than once.
"Whash sho funny?" he asks me mid-bite, not bothering to swallow. I realize I have a weird smile on my face and quickly revert back to my resting bitch face.
"Just tired," I yawn. "I was asleep, you know?" It's his turn to smile now. His smile is so bright, it catches me by surprise. In front of me sits the most genuine man I've ever met, or at least it feels that way. I hear his fork hit the plate and a jolt of longing shoots through me. He stands up and starts to walk away again, and I can feel my stomach drop. This time I have the leg strength and presence of mind to follow him, but he's not headed for the door. Instead, he casually walks into my bedroom. Confused and a little alarmed, I follow from a safe distance. I reach the couch as he emerges, pulling his sweatshirt over his head.
"It's getting cold out there," he tells me, as though I don't know. He passes me quickly. "Thanks for keeping this safe," he calls back to me, hand on the door. I sit back on the couch and will myself to move, to say something.
"You could stay," I whisper weakly. The door slams behind him in response. I wonder if he even heard.