Sakura spends the following weeks slaving away at the hospital, setting bones and mending wounds. She finds herself taking on extra shifts, if only to keep her mind occupied—keep her from facing the growing chasm inside her. Though she's always loved her job, she's felt an increasing surge of pride with every patient helped. It's the Kazekage's words that repeat themselves like a mantra, motivating her to push through her exhaustion; because at least her work means something to someone. Already she's had to convince her friends not to worry—she's fine, truly. It's what she keeps telling herself, too. So what if she hasn't had a home-made dinner in weeks? Opting for either take-out or a restaurant instead. It's just that the silence in her apartment leaves too much room for thought.
It gets to the point where her parents grow increasingly overbearing. Sakura is used to her mother's overprotective tendencies, but she's never been badgered like this before. She manages to know exactly when Sakura gets home, the ringing of her phone timed with disturbing accuracy. She's tried ignoring it, but guilt forces her to return every call. Three weeks are enough to break her, and she finally agrees to dinner—which she knows won't be about eating as much as it'll be about Sasuke. He's the proverbial elephant in the room, despite not being in the room at all—that's precisely where the problem lies. She's not sure what she had expected from their relationship. Perhaps loneliness hadn't been it.
Her mother picks her up after her shift, a bag intended for their groceries slung over her shoulder. She'd insisted they shop together, just like they'd done when Sakura was younger. Though she doesn't think so at first, she has to admit she enjoys the time spent together. It's a taste of normalcy, reminding her of how things used to be before Sasuke's distance rubbed off on her. Sakura hadn't intended to shut anyone out, but it had been easier than facing the truth—after all, she's perfectly aware what her parents think of her current 'relationship'.
They spend the afternoon strolling through Konoha's busy market, starting up casual conversations with the many people they pass. As her mother selects the vegetables, Sakura thinks she spots a familiar shade of red. Her heart stutters, only to sink when she realises it's not him. Her arms wrap around herself, mind attempting to make sense of her reaction. It's not as if Gaara and she are friends, far from it, so why does the prospect of seeing him again excite her so? He's barely more than a stranger, yet she finds herself wishing he wasn't. Sakura has always enjoyed knowledge—learning, memorising. She reckons he might be just that: another mystery to study. If anything it's a far better answer than the alternative.
They head home shortly after, their shopping list completed. So far her mother hasn't been too intrusive, sticking to pleasant topics that allow Sakura to breathe a little easier. They pass through one of the busier streets, sticking together as they navigate the crowd. Her mother continues to tell her about one of the trips she's made to the Land of Bears, reminiscing about the many stars decorating its sky. Sakura hums along, attempting to picture the visions her mother describes. She turns her gaze to Konoha's sky, only to freeze halfway through. Before her stands the subject of her thoughts, accompanied by a grouchy-looking Shikamaru.
"Gaara," she blurts, tensing as she quickly moves to correct herself, "I mean, Kazekage-sama."
He nods, gaze darting to her mother beside her. "Please," he starts as his eyes return to her, "Gaara is fine."
She takes a breath, holding it in her chest, realising this is it; what are the odds of bumping into him again? She wants to say something, anything, but as she stands there with her lungs full of air, she realises it's as empty as her voice.
"Kazekage-sama," her mom speaks, "it's an honour to meet you—I'm Sakura's mother, Haruno Mebuki."
What could she possibly speak to him about that could warrant interrupting his schedule? Besides, they weren't friends... would it be deemed inappropriate to ask about his business?
"The honour is all mine." Gaara bows—actually bows—for her mother, as if he isn't the most important man in Suna himself. "We are indebted to your family."
Again with the praise—Sakura wonders if perhaps the Kazekage goes around praising everyone, if only to unsettle them. She breathes, squaring her shoulders as she swallows her nerves. "Will you be staying long?" she manages to ask, mentally scolding herself for her forwardness.
"A few days, I've just arrived."
"You must be hungry after such a long journey," her mother says, earning a wide-eyed look from Sakura—what does she think she's doing?
Gaara watches the both of them, expression betraying little of his thoughts. "Yes," he starts, only to pause, frowning as if trying to decipher a hidden meaning behind her mother's question.
"Well Sakura and I will be preparing a special meal tonight, it'd be an honour if you'd decide to join us."
No way! No way did her mother invite the Kazekage for dinner! Sakura thinks that, if she weren't holding the groceries, she might have fallen over. There's a heat creeping up the back of her neck, her eyes directed at anything but the man before her.
"I'd like that," he replies, and when Sakura's gaze returns, she's surprised to see him smile.
The doorbell rings, and Sakura doesn't think she could possibly shoot up any faster. She misses the edge of the table by a hair's breadth, throwing her off balance and causing her to stumble. She curses, straightening herself as she smooths down her dress. She ignores her mother's snickering, unwilling to give the woman more ammunition. Heading down the hall, she takes a deep breath, reminding herself there's no reason to be nervous—this is just Gaara. She opens the door, aware how strange it is to be greeted by the sight of him. It's the first time she sees him in civilian clothes, the seafoam colour of his shirt washing away the years, reminding her they're the same age (she tries not to think too much of how it brings out his eyes).
"Hi," she greets, noticing the small box in his hands, tied by a neat bow.
"Hey." He raises the gift for her to take. "This is for you."
She feels a genuine smile curling her lips. "Thank you, that's very kind. Come in." She takes a step back, allowing him space to enter. As he passes, there's that same hint of desert rain in the air, soft and sweet. It reminds her of the medicinal herbs she loves to work with. "It's the first door on the left." Sakura's happy he at least doesn't have to see the pitiful mess that is her appartement, she doesn't even remember the last time she watered her plants. They enter the living room, her parents adding the final touches to the dinner table.
"Welcome, Kazekage-sama," her mother greets, "take any seat you like."
"Gaara is fine." His gaze travels the room, in wonder or dismay, Sakura doesn't know. She has no idea what his own living situation is like, wether he's used to a more luxurious setting or not—as the son of a Kage, she reckons he must be. Her father introduces himself, locking the redhead in a firm handshake. He leads Gaara to the table, taking the seat next to him. Sakura moves to the opposite side, the small gift still in her hands. When she looks up, she notices he watches her expectantly, large, green eyes glued to her face. She fumbles a little with the bow, a nervous flutter in her chest. When she lifts the lid, she finds eight mochis inside, decorated by tiny sugar-blossoms.
"These are my favourites," she gasps, gaze shooting up to meet his. "How'd you know?"
Gaara smiles, and she finds her hands fumbling with the wrappings, if only to keep them occupied. "Shikamaru told me."
Her father passes, carrying several glasses and placing them across the table. Sakura pays him no mind, unable to look away. "Thank you, Gaara. That's really considerate of you." She doesn't know why she feels so nervous, why her heart stutters and palms sweat. This is the second time she's actually talked to him, yet his presence leaves her more butterfingered than she's used to. If she's honest with herself, she can at least admit he's a handsome man. Not in the traditional sense—not like Sasuke. Gaara's appeal lies more in the deep red of his hair and the paleness of his eyes. There's a boyish quality to the gentle slope of his nose and the roundness of his chin, his features reminding her nothing of the chiseled angles so distinctly Uchiha. She thinks she appreciates that about him.
"I'm happy you like it."
Her parents join them, her mother pouring drinks as her father reveals the dishes.
"Well, if I'd known I would have gotten you something in return."
"No need." He shakes his head, gaze darting around the table. "This is more than enough."
"It's not often we have a guest," her mother says as she takes a seat. "Even Sakura hasn't visited in quite a while."
"Mom..." Sakura eyes the woman.
"It's true honey, you've been working so much, it's a miracle you manage to eat at all."
Sakura rubs her temple as she watches her dad fill his plate, steam rising from the elaborate dishes. "It's just been hectic," she mumbles, aware of the transparency of such a statement.
"So Gaara," her mother turns to the redhead, "you've known each other for some time haven't you? When was it you met?"
"At the Chuunin exams, mom."
Gaara's gaze darts between the two of them, only half paying attention as her dad serves him. "I crushed her against a tree."
Sakura chokes, coughing into a fist. She gulps down a glass of water, the sting of tears in her eyes. How could he say such things with a straight face?
"I'd like to make up for that."
"Hm," her mother hums. "You can start by trying my soup." Grinning, she pushes the dish towards him.
Her father waves them off. "We've all made mistakes, especially when it comes to women," he chuckles, "fickle creatures, they are."
"It wasn't like that, dad," Sakura quickly interrupts.
"Kizashi," her mother scolds, slapping him across the wrist with a ladle.
Gaara sends Sakura a questioning look. "Like what?"
A nervous laugh escapes her, and she quickly pushes his bowl further towards him. "Don't forget your soup, it's a Haruno specialty."
"Play your cards right and you'll eat a lot more of those!" her father guffaws, earning another slap from her mother.
"Dad!" Sakura shrieks, joining in striking him. Her father continues cackling, obviously pleased. Sakura takes a deep breath, releasing it through her nose before turning to the man before her. She's surprised to see him smiling as he eats, eyes shining with mirth.
"It's a good soup," he rumbles, meeting her gaze. Wait, was he teasing her now? It somehow lessens the tension, a relieved grin splitting her face.
"Don't flatter her too much," she warns, "before you know it, all of Konoha's heard the Kazekage approved her cooking."
Gaara shrugs. "Wouldn't be too bad a rumour."
"What brings you to Konoha? If that's alright to ask," Mebuki asks.
"It's fine." He stirs his soup, and Sakura finds herself watching the movement. "I'm not here on any official mission. I wanted some time away, and Naruto was gracious enough to help. He requested my presence, but truly, I'm not needed."
Sakura frowns. "Aren't you allowed to take time off?"
"Technically I am, but now wouldn't be too conductive. The council doesn't always agree with my choices—which is the polite way of saying I've pissed them off."
"The good 'ole generational rift," her father chuckles.
"What'd you do?" Sakura presses, inching slightly closer, the vapour of her soup warming her skin.
Gaara hesitates, clearing his throat before continuing: "they're very traditional. The title of Kazekage is a hereditary one, a custom they're fond of."
She has a sense he's not too happy to talk about it, but she's unable to ignore the implication of his words. "They want you to produce an heir."
"Yes." He looks away, focusing on his soup instead. "I proposed adoption."
She notices her mother leaning in. "You're not seeing anyone?" she asks, and Sakura highly suspects an ulterior motive.
There's a hint of pink staining his cheeks, almost as inconspicuous as his freckles. "I'm not too good at talking to women."
Her father releases a snort. "That's easy; all you do is ask them what they like and they'll do the talking for you."
"Dad," Sakura hisses, sending him a disapproving glare before turning to Gaara. "I don't think you're bad at it."
He sends her an unreadable look. "You approached me."
Did he mean to imply no one had before? It's hard to believe—she distinctly remembers several women being happy to see him revived... could it be none of them possessed the courage? Her eyes stray to his kanji, its roughened edges hardly visible from across the table. "True, but..." she starts, unsure where she's headed.
"I don't desire to encumber anyone." He shrugs, a gesture Sakura thinks too nonchalant to accompany such a statement. "There's plenty of children without a parent. I'd like to be of meaning to them."
It's a noble cause, but part of her wonders if it isn't a lonely one, too. Somewhere she feels she's projecting too much, well-aware preserving the Uchiha line won't change who Sasuke is. Being a single parent isn't something she necessarily desires, but she's not too dense to not think it likely. Still, Temari's already chosen to settle in Konoha, meaning only Kankuro's left. Who else does Gaara have in Suna? It's something that dawns on her as she meets his gaze; either way, Gaara is an inherently lonely person. Like the protective layer of sand, there's a perpetual barrier between him and others. Similar to Naruto, he alone can understand his experiences as a jinchuuriki. Though she cannot imagine what that must be like, she does think she's starting to know him a little better.
She smiles. "I think that's a beautiful cause. Those children are very lucky."
This eases some of his disquietude, lifting the corners of his lips. The accomplishment evokes the same lightness she felt earlier, and it stays with her throughout dinner. Conversation flows more easily, the awkwardness she's felt around him mediated by the knowledge that, in the end, they aren't all that different. Despite his social imperfections, Sakura finds Gaara can actually be quite funny; his straightforwardness and deadpan delivery an at times priceless combination. He keeps up with her dad's quips in a way that is surprisingly witty, and Sakura can see how he might piss off his council more often than not. It's odd, but as the evening passes, she feels this stranger at her parents' dinner table to be increasingly less that.
She tries, though ineffectively so, to ignore the small voice at the back of her mind, telling her right now is the most at home she's felt in months.