Chapter 8: Can She Hear My Heart Coming Through on the Door Between
Later into the night, Gaara found the owner of the apartment sitting pissed drunk at the steps outside the door. He had been in her house an hour or so; when she wasn't anywhere inside, he decided to look for her in town, but eventually dropped the idea. He had the feeling that maybe she needed time for herself.
But then, the Kazekage had grown impatient waiting for Sakura. She had left the party some minutes past nine. It was now nearing two in the morning. When he finally resolved to scouring the whole town for her, she was just there sleeping, with her body leaning to the doorframe.
It confused him, however, since there was a distinct chakra signature that was suddenly masked and then disappeared as he opened the door. Gaara swiftly scanned the area with his eyes, the lined trees in front of her apartment, the roofs, the neighbors, anywhere that could be a potential hideout.
He would've ventured out for a full inspection, but there was Sakura to tend. She was dripping wet from the rain, and so fast asleep she couldn't have been walking around in such a state. Perhaps the chakra he felt was the person who brought her home. But the hidden chakra? Could it have been a ninja, too? Possible. Not Kakashi, though, he thought, since there was no point for the Hokage to be secretive. Or was there a Kiri-nin kind enough to bring her back? A suitor, maybe? Quite possible, Gaara frowned.
It couldn't have been something dangerous, though? A stalker, or an abductor who had made bad blood with her? Hopefully not. But his intuition didn't bother him as when danger could strike. And so, he carried her up into the house, instead.
She was seriously wet; would it be best to dry her off before laying her down to the bed? Of course! He answered himself. But, there was no way he should be doing that, right? He wouldn't! If she caught colds, then that's what she got for staying out in the rain!
He picked her up from the steps and led her to her bedroom, while she was oblivious of everything around her. If he wouldn't be taking her clothes off to dry, then he might as well pat her dry. Towels and blankets were easily found, prompting Gaara to dab her body with the towel and cover her with thick blankets. Hopefully, she wouldn't catch the flu as fast otherwise.
Somehow, to Gaara, it was also forgotten, either intentionally or subconsciously, that his patient was a renowned doctor. But still, he carried on. Perhaps it was initial reaction, instinct, or standard operating procedure of the male species to tend to females; their alpha gene to look after vulnerable pretty girls, rescue maidens in distress. Perhaps it was their own little assurance to brokenhearted women that their lean, broad shoulders could carry their pesky baggage for them.
To Gaara, as he sat by the edge of the bed and as he lay her head upon his lap for him to dry her hair, as he combed each strand, every pink strand, to him, it was his humble service he could do every morning, every night for the rest of their lives. If she would only let him, then by god he would.
But each time he offered himself wholly and eternally, there was always something to remind him that he was up against a ghost that would never be laid to rest. Not when she, herself, wouldn't put the dead to where it belonged – rotten, forgotten and all bones, six feet underground.
Not when she still whispered the darned dead man's name in her sleep.
"-suke… kun… Sas… kun…"
As Gaara finished his selfless duties and prepared to tuck her in, he vowed that everything had to end by tomorrow. That tomorrow, he would finally put his right foot forward and insist. Tomorrow, he would tell her to choose him instead, to let go and move on with him, to please, please let him pick up her broken pieces, for he would look at her shards of glass with eyes marveling at bright yet tarnished emerald and jade and wilted cherry blossoms and fallen stars.
Yes, he would. And with frustration and his own pent-up broken heartache and grim eyes, he watched her sleep. She was peaceful like the night outside her window, but everything was in chaos inside her, inside him. As though he could make everything alright, or just to make him believe that he could make things fine, he knelt beside her and took her soft hands.
As she continued to dream of the dead and call him with her little lips that knew nothing but of lost love that would never come to be, Gaara leant to silence her moving mouth with his very own. It was like hitting two birds with one stone: shut her up and let his feelings reach her.
Even in her dreams, he hoped he had reached her.
But it was uncertain whether it ever did, his feelings, for she was not awake to witness it. It was only him, and mosquitoes and maybe bedbugs and a pair of swirling eyes watching from a distance, always only from a distance.
Author's Note: Dear Readers, it has been so long and I am sorry for not updating. I've written this chapter years ago, but wasn't able to finish it. After reading it again for the first time ever, I just can't let this Gaara Monologue go to waste by waiting for the rest of the chapter to be wrapped up. So, I am updating it as a consolation to everyone whom I have kept waiting. I hope you loved it as much as my heart is breaking every time I imagine Gaara beside her bed, every time I try to write in Sakura's shoes in this story, and every time I feel Sasuke's frustration as he can only watch her from afar.
I cannot promise for a next update, for I have been experiencing writer's block for years now. Though the recent Naruto chapters are giving me inspiration. I hope Sasusaku writers out there get some, too, to revive the Sasusaku Golden Age we had so many moons ago.
Again, thank you, give me love and see you soon!