Note from the Author: No pairings, I swear it.
Heat and darkness. A seeming contradiction. Why should skin prickle with sweat when the sun is not shining?
The stars are dim. It is too warm for light. They bathe in the cold of the universe, throwing off the suffocating summertime.
He cannot sleep. He does not sleep. He fears the fire behind his eyelids; the moon bears down upon him in his fever. He wonders when he last saw rest. How does he continue?
The wind over Suna is hot, and the sand slaps sharply against his bare arms, and he lets it, savoring the fleeting coolness it brings him, the evanescent company. It seems to represent all the love he has felt in his life, and now it disappears. Perspiration trickles across the crimson tattoo on his forehead, and his vein throbs suddenly as the monster inside him begs again to be released.
His fingers twist in his red hair, and he draws in deep thick breaths that offer no real oxygen. It is too hot to expect to inhale freely, comfortably. His brain is fizzling with bloodlust, and he cowers, gritting his teeth. It sounds loud in his ears.
A cool hand descends, settles lightly on the back of his neck, and the scent of eucalyptus helps him to recognize her through the darkness. "S'alright, Gaara," her voice is husky with sleep. "We're here."
He comes back to himself, collapsing against his sister, who holds him close, stroking his cheek, her lips against his hair. Kankurou's hand grasps his, and Gaara's knuckles are white with an attempt to stay connected to his brother.
It is still hot, but it seems no longer dark. Suddenly, he feels he can breathe.