Gaara of the Desert walked with a subtle grace. The quiet, purposeful steps always calculated, always a nimble elegance added to his movement. Temari had once complimented her brother on how he radiated the essence of being ninja. In the same breath, she berated the clumsy, blond shinobi who was currently raiding their pantry. Naruto had no grace, no elegance in her eyes.

Gaara almost laughed.

He wasn't tempted to laugh at Naruto's folly as the man managed to drop an extra ration bag of sugar. Nor was he going to laugh at Naruto's impossibly inelegant maneuver as he caught a few more bags of food supplies before they crashed to the pantry floor. Gaara was trying not to laugh at his own sister's ignorance.

Naruto was both graceful and beautiful in Gaara's mind. Temari didn't know of the strong arch of Naruto's back, his sometimes soundless careening, or even the smooth ripple of muscle told just how ingrained the poise of the ninja was in the other man. These seemed to be only things Gaara knew of, and the sand leader liked that.

Naruto's affinity against noiselessness was not because he couldn't be quiet, only that he wished not to be. For the entirety of his life, Naruto wished for nothing more than to be heard. Gaara heard Naruto -- even among the silence. Gaara was also one of the few who were witness to Naruto's rare moments of silence, grace, and beauty.