Warmth, hums through, melts him in and out of shape and existence, time strolling by with every sweet breath. Caught floating somewhere between sleep and waking, a rare twilight of consciousness dictating languid beat after beat. Clear now—clearer than he's ever been—no more break of waves to drown or friction of sand to burn and chafe. He's there, right in front of himself, lit by a waking sun—the sun warms his skin, rays spilling down like cascading rivers, washing over. He could stay here; cocooned in a layer of inexplicable safety. Feels the relief of rest, sleep. Feels… Peace—for as far as he's understood it—has always been about treaties, temporary truces and ceasefires. Now thinks this feeling might be the same. Free from scattered thought, wandering mind, takes a deep breath... Enveloping him is a familiar scent, sweet yet gentle, vaguely reminding him of something eerily particular… Something he feels he should recognise-
He shoots up, blinks against the harsh light of day, spilling inside a room he barely recognises—barely realises there's no memory of going to sleep, nothing to explain the scent of cherries, the weight of- Of—looks down, greeted by a pale arm encircling his waist. Breath falters, eyes unblinking as they take in pink hair- Pink, impossible to ignore. Calm, breathe—watches pink lashes dust rosy cheeks, pink sleeves cover subtly sunburnt shoulders—her warmth seeps through his shirt, fills him in a new way, different from the One-tail's scorching heat. Calm, breathe again. Sakura sleeps undisturbed, apparently unaware of their situation—if observing his siblings' taught him anything, it's that men and women don't tend to casually share a bed, unless- Or perhaps- He thinks, at least—but what does he know? Maybe Sakura does? No. Ridiculous. Especially not with him—it's accidental, has to… Needs to be.
Breathe, feels the weight of her arm push against stomach, awakens a wave of… It's shockingly intense, unsettles deeply in its unfamiliarity. Squeezes eyes shut, back starting to ache from the tension gripping his muscles—there isn't enough space here, not enough air to think- Breathe. Never has he ever- Starts to understand, slowly, this thing his siblings have plagued him about for years, tittering pulse spreading touch-induced heat and- No, breathe, breathe- Move. He needs to move. Needs to get away from her overwhelming proximity. It's all wrong, a violation of all he's forced himself to forget. All he's ever wanted… Trembling hand reaches for hers, long fingers foreign against her slender limb, weirdly misplaced yet perfectly at home wrapping around her wrist—nothing at all like destructive claws of coarse earth. It's all disjointed, inexplicable, creates new waves of disorienting shivers. If she wakes up now—if she sees-
"Don't leave."
He holds on to the air in his lungs, hates his heart for slamming against his ribs. Impossible- Not a chance he- Dares a glance, sees she's still asleep, continuing to mutter unintelligible things against his side. It could have meant anything, to anyone—would have meant nothing less than, if not all, to him, and- And… He's him; Gaara, for all that's worth, all it means—to hardly anyone. She's asleep, while he, for another rare moment, sits awake, feels the heavy weight he'd gotten to forget, the quiet drip of drops… He's Gaara, still, or again, only ever conscious whenever the world turns around in its sleep. His free hand reaches for his cheeks, one at a time, wipes at trailing remnants of long-gone meaning—though surprised, he no longer glowers at their indelible presence. He knows why, understands perfectly well the emptiness awaiting him; the all-swallowing void wrapped around every aspect of his life, devoid of meaningful connection. He shoulders it, knows—despite their best intentions—his siblings could never lighten the load without sinking themselves.
So breathe—breathe and bear it; seek meaning in accomplishment and esteem, work until working becomes filling enough to quell whatever's supposed to come after. He's fine that way, never longs for more or less, knows exactly where he's needed and when he's wanted—knows how to forget whoever he used to be and shapes himself according to whatever's expected. Nothing but a breathing mass to meet the designated responsibilities, nothing but… Breathe… and he does. Carefully unwraps himself from Sakura's hold—the only weight pleasant enough to be missed—and dangles his legs off the bed. Pauses, hands gripping the edges, white-turned knuckles crinkling white fabric, and feels a little more of himself stick to his lashes, dampen his cheeks. It's mortifying, disgustingly weak and… He knows, couldn't forget, never forgets. So wipes again, angrily enough to rub his skin raw. He's nothing. Is nothing. Nothing, so stands and erases whatever's left.
Hears her start to twist and turn, allows for a final glance despite knowing it'll bring nothing but regret. Her arm stretches across a now vacant half, grasping for an empty imprint of warmth. It shouldn't bother—has nothing to do with, or meaning to—so why is it increasingly impossible to look away? Recalls, Sakura wandering Naruto's wedding alone, standing forlorn by a table long abandoned by most guests, draped in shadows as she downs drink after drink and… Sakura, with shadows beneath her eyes and a forced smile on her lips, raising more and more walls between the world and herself. Sakura, losing herself enough to latch onto the first one to point out her self-imposed loneliness and… Sakura, sleeping peacefully next to the one who, without a second thought, nearly ended her life.
A pang, sharp enough to upset, nails digging into palms and teeth grounding down. No more selfish self-pity, vows not to wallow in whatever feebleminded nonsense wells up in the future. Focus. She's owed, deserves more than and infinitely better. One step at a time, vows to be there so long as she needs, so long as no one else steps up, and prays she can forgive—at least long enough to smile a genuine smile again.
"You know you're free to go wherever you want, right?"
People pass through streets, blend together like leaves on a tree, the nearby crinkle of paperwork a familiar comfort. "I thought you'd requested my company?" Stares down at the village, chin resting in palm of hand, elbow perched on the windowsill—red reflects off the glass, an almost reflection, incomplete enough to not bother.
"I meant you're always welcome if you, you know, wanted to talk—not that I mind you being here—but sitting there while I do paperwork can't be much fun."
Not quite an invitation, doesn't surprise in the slightest, still leaves a dull sting. "Hn."
"So… is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
Stiffens, doesn't redirect gaze, instead continues to stare into nothing, far away, wondering if he somehow knows. "No."
Several minutes pass in silence, interrupted only by the rustle of paper, the distracted bounce of leg—an empty attempt to try and dispel the building tension, halted when Naruto speaks again: "If you don't agree with an arranged marriage I'm sure your council could be persuaded to consider other options."
Instantly calms, releases a quiet breath, leg relaxing. Has already suggested other options, doesn't feel much for explaining, so instead drones: "It's my duty to my village, as their leader and-"
"Yes, but what do you want? Not your village. Not your council. You."
Stills, gaze locking with the blond's. Isn't anyone, doesn't get to want or wish—not like Naruto would—but remembers, deep down, exactly what eats away at the heart. "I don't want to be like my father." Betrothed to a stranger, children born only out of duty. Can see he doesn't quite understand—hasn't the knowledge to form the appropriate context—instead Naruto attempts a sympathetic look and smiles.
"You'll never be—you've surpassed him in every sense and will continue to do so." Though meant well, knows it's only partially true, hasn't had the life experience to even come close in many areas—Naruto, however, already moves to the next subject. "Listen, Hinata and I actually wanted to invite you for dinner," he continues, "think you could come over tonight?"
Yet another invitation, which—though a welcome change—isn't exactly convenient. "I have somewhere to be."
Naruto's eyebrows shoot up, a curious gleam in his eyes. "You do?"
It's not a secret, is it? Wouldn't matter if anyone or even everyone knew. Still hesitates to share, somehow overcome with discomfort—or perhaps it's the sudden scrutiny that bothers. "Yes." Turns back to the window, eyes quickly find a running child, leaping across the streets with gangly limbs. Wonders where they might be headed, wether their parents are shinobi or not. Wonders if they're happy.
"Gaara?"
Blinks, turns to look over shoulder again and meet Naruto's questioning gaze, frowns when he stands, approaching with narrowed eyes. Instincts scream to shrink away, experience commands to stay still and not waver. Is safe here, continuously repeats the words, invoking the same mental reminders. The blond reaches out, gently plucks something off shoulder, fingers raising it into view. A strand of pink ruins any and all possible excuses, shatters whatever temporary peace of mind had been reached—feels the distance grow, the room further away now, a tiny speck in comparison to the amount of racing thoughts. It's obvious who it belongs to, goes without saying it has no business being where it is and-
"Have you been at the hospital?"
The hospi… Right, Sakura's work—because of course anyone could run into her there? Hesitates, dares not show a reaction, instead relies on the safety of habit, plasters on a monotonous expression. "No…"
Naruto raises a brow, appears to almost shrug it off when he pauses, curiosity returning. "You're close with Sakura-chan?"
Are they? Not exactly, at least… No. No, they're nothing—nothing worth defining. Nothing but an accidental share of slumber. "No."
Naruto—curse him—leans closer, scrutinises through narrowed slits, the beginnings of a teasing grin curling his lips. "So… who was it you were seeing tonight?"
Maintains eye contact in an attempt to appear unfazed, deadpans: "You finished your paperwork?"
"Aha!" Naruto exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger. "A sentence!"
Frowns, thinking of all the sentences spoken over the years, doubts they've ever been anything to be excited about.
"Is that why you're stalling your arranged marriage?"
Eyes widen and voice falters, tongue twisted into knots and stomach tight—for a moment wonders what secrecy is even worth, why not spill all and be done with it? Why not tell—even if it's just a single soul? It's exhausting, drains what little calm might be derived. Let it out to allow it in, spill from the gaps until he's that much less awash. Closer, he's only a little closer, teeters on the edge of—knows he might never rest if he hasn't at least said it once. Clear the air, then never-
"Don't worry," Naruto waves a hand, chuckles as he returns to his chair, "I'm just teasing you." Pauses, frowning in thought. "And I think there's still Sasuke, of course."
Blinks, releases a slow breath, eyes unseeing as they stare at the place Naruto had just been. Sasuke, her old teammate; Naruto's closest friend. He hadn't known—at least hadn't taken notice of… But then why- Or perhaps due to—recalls again; Sakura all alone at Naruto's wedding, Sasuke's usual absence. He's been gone for months, hasn't returned to his village even once—hasn't seen all he's left.
"Don't leave."
He swallows, supposes it doesn't change a thing either way, knows it's better, relieves him of wondering—knew from the start what he'd gotten himself into; he could have been anyone else willing to offer, and wills himself to once again acknowledge that truth. Silently, he turns back to the window, his reflection a welcome reminder of what he is, eyes taking in all he isn't—nothing at all—and surrenders again to knowing life is better that way. Finally admits: "Sakura's helping me sleep."
Naruto raises a brow, shakes his head, then adds: "I suppose that's Sakura-chan for you, always helping everyone."
"Hn." An elderly couple bounds a corner, one of them carrying a bag, green vegetables sticking out, their lips moving with soundless conversation.
"Well, if it's her you'll be seeing, perhaps you could ask her to join?"
The man lays a wrinkled hand atop the woman's shoulder, leads her around another corner and out of view, their final glimpse revealing happy smiles. In their absence there's a lingering impression, taking on the shape of them over and over again; through glimpses of children chasing each other, families reuniting on a corner, young people passing by, arm in arm—all safely watched from behind cold glass and hard walls. "I'll see if she agrees."
Her hand, wrapped around his arm, sending static through his skin, jolting his heart. Feels the hint of an involuntary smile tug at his lips, breathing in her proximity. It's all make believe, a game of pretend to make up for what's missed—a quiet hasn't been for the both of them. She's beautiful in her green dress, matching her eyes—they might just be his favourite colour, he decides right then. Feels himself melt beneath their gaze, convinced again there's something disorienting about Konoha's afternoon sun, or perhaps it's just her after all; body soft against him, igniting his newfound addiction, the delicate bend of her arm around his spiking his blood with an unusual trill. Can't believe yesterday those arms latched onto him, then cradled him into the welcoming hold of sleep. As if he were just any other—as if he just were. More than ever, he feels as if he's caught chasing, running out of breath, just for… And she looks right at him, sees unobscured by titles and roles and supposed prestige- Looks right at him and makes him someone worth looking at.
She squeezes his arm, unearths an unfamiliar sensation with her smile. "Well then, tonight you're amongst friends—and to us, you'll always be Gaara."
His name passing her lips quickens his pulse, gives him momentary pause, wide eyes taking in the genuine affection warming her features. She calls him a friend, and he's caught tongue-tied; welcomed in a way he could never hope to deserve. A smile pushes through his surprise, escapes right past his reserve and reflects the happy flutter within his chest. Something about her draws him out, lures him to the very edge of caution, has him doing things if only to see those eyes light up—hungry for the ways in which she feeds his curiosity, holds him securely fixated between the two of them. He flexes his fingers, feels them itch, knows he'll never be satisfied if he doesn't- Nails digging into palm in a weak imitation of warmth—she's so close, shoulder comfortably leaning into his, the tips of her fingers barely touching the exposed skin of his arm. Recalls the distinct memory of her cheek pressed to his chest, arm circling his waist, her breath fanning and fuelling a hunger not yet known. Just a little more and- Feels his heart hammer, lightheaded from the sheer thought and- Watches her from the corner of his eye, holds his breath as he raises his hand, slides it atop of hers, feeling again the new sensation of skin to skin and- And…
"You know, you haven't been a very good friend so far." Swallows, closes his eyes for a moment—only a moment he tells himself—breathes in a deep breath and welcomes what he could only describe as…
"What do you mean?"
Stomach jumps, body heats, electricity traveling down his limbs, leaves him up and above and saying things he knows he shouldn't—something about everything and nothing and Naruto's words echoing somewhere distant—yet all slips past better judgement and playfully falls off his lips. "I thought friends were supposed to share, instead you left me in the cold last night." It's out now, their mutual blunder—almost too unlikely to believe, somehow still clings to him with its smothering presence. There's no more pretending it didn't happen. No more avoiding the possibility of voiced regret—here's a chance to restore a boundary neither of them had intended to cross.
Her eyes narrow, brow set in a stern expression. "Wait, are you accusing me of being a blanket hogger?" she continues their banter, doesn't react with anger or spite, doesn't express the expected disgust or indignation.
Relief washes him clean of guilt, breathes easier for it. "I'm just saying."
"You're real spoilt, you know that? You try sleeping once, and now there's no end to the entitlement." Her smile contradicts her lecturing tone, reassures him; glad she makes it easy for him to understand.
"You're right." Heart in his throat, averts his gaze—knows he'll never be Sasuke—still tells her thinking she deserves every form of flattery in the world. "I suppose you're much better than a blanket."
Her demeanour's changed from the moment they're welcomed; eyes clouded, shoulders tensed, her thoughts filling the space with their tangible weight. No more witty remarks leave her lips. In their stead there is silence, now and then broken by empty words; practiced responses. He makes sure to redirect any attention headed her way, engaging in more conversation than he'd normally tolerate—he's certain even Naruto notices, oblivious as the blond might be at times. It's alright, he'll bear the scrutiny so long as it means she's at ease, will deal with the questions he knows will follow. She sticks to his side in a way she—or anyone else—has never done before; shoulder to shoulder, as if he's the safest thing in the room. It's not until Naruto quips about the Kazekage mansion that she pipes up, leaving him to wonder if she sensed his discomfort. The exchange that follows doesn't exactly help temper the curious looks either. He feels the question in the air long before it's uttered, somehow still surprised at it being asked. He'd already explained, which is why he knows it's Sakura who's being tested.
"So, things must be getting serious between the two of you, right?" Naruto half-jokes, pointedly avoiding Gaara's glare.
He can feel Sakura stiffen at his side, voice high-pitched and panicked. "No, we're not dating!" Of course they're not. Of course she wouldn't. What does Naruto even hope to gain if not to embarrass them? He already knows the answer, couldn't possibly think there'd be more to it, had brought up Sasuke himself—if Gaara's suspicions are right, the subject of Sasuke isn't exactly welcome.
"Oh, well I assumed since you..."
"We're just sleeping together," he blurts out, satisfied when the blond turns to him in shock—is entirely aware of the implications and knows Naruto is too. Feels unusually cross, has no idea why, just knows there are better conversations to be had when it comes to Sakura—there's no need to remind her of things she'd rather not talk about.
"No, no! We're not-"
"Are you saying we didn't?" He turns to her, takes in her flustered appearance—nearly wavers in his pretend-confidence. It's nothing like him; if his siblings heard him talk like this they'd think something was horribly wrong.
"I mean, yes, but..." She pauses, thoughts racing behind those beautiful eyes, slowly coming to life, their spark returning once realisation dawns. "Wait, are you fucking with me?"
He raises a brow, feels a satisfied smirk pull at his lips, heart leaping at the intensity of her attention, utter magnetism of her moxie—certain that, if he ever wanted to understand this thing called allure, she'd be the only one capable of convincing him of its worth. "Language."
"Naruto tells me you have quite the green fingers."
He thinks this might the first direct conversation the two of them have ever had—wonders what he represents in her mind. Fear, or something else? "Cacti are notoriously easy." Their garden is simple, yet lovely; obviously well-tended to in their time living here. Plants of these variety are rare in his village, near impossible to keep without special measures taken. It'd be cruel to want to grow them in a land unsuited, somewhere they don't belong.
"My mother always urged me to find something to be passionate about, not necessarily talented." Hinata tips her head, a strange look passing those unreadable eyes, observing him closely.
Unconsciously or not, her hand travels to her stomach, yet to show a sign of the life growing inside. He doesn't know how to feel about it, what to think—too removed from the real thing to relate. Instead watches her from the corner of his eye, interest piqued, wondering where their conversation is headed. "Did you?"
She offers a timid smile, directs her gaze across their garden. "In many ways, yes. I think passion is necessary in order to feel truly alive."
He doesn't. Doesn't even know what passion means, what it's supposed to feel like. All he knows is- Remembers-
"From what he tells me, you're quite passionate about your plants?"
Only feels alive when- Or at least thinks that's what 'life' is supposed to feel like. Sure he enjoys raising cacti, but to call it anything close to 'passionate' would be… "I suppose," he concedes, if only to move the conversation forward. Instead it staggers to a halt, silence pervading the air, allowing his mind to wander. Not for the first time, he wonders how Sakura's faring. Wonders how she feels, if she wonders about him in return, wonders again and again how she'd ended up entangled with the likes of him. Arm comfortably draped across his stomach, leaving an imprint of some indescribable sensation—something askew, disconcerting, emptying him out and left hungering for... Whenever he observes the woman next to him, there's a tell-tale shine possessing those lilac eyes—its existence he noticed first in his sister, then countless more appeared to gleam and glow likewise.
He wonders, to his surprise, if his own gaze ever carries a similar shine—if such a silent vernacular could be translated to a singular show of passion? It's there when Temari speaks of Shikamaru, there again when Hinata steals a furtive glance at Naruto… Had Sakura's ever shone in Sasuke's direction? Way back when, long before the light reflected by those green moons had started to fade? Had that fearless protectiveness he'd faced all those years ago been of similar origin?
"You used to terrify me," Hinata admits, soft remark cutting through the silence.
He swallows, understands well-enough. Knows no light could ever be coaxed into being through terror. He's to be defeated; faced in name of those loved and worthy of protection. He's always prepared for the words, has come to expect their familiar, seemingly unshakable, syllables. Always whispered or muttered in breathless admissions—doesn't know why they still affect him the way they do, why the sting never dulls. Offers a stiff nod, nails digging into palms, eyes distant as he waits for her to continue.
"Now I think you're one of the best to entrust my future child with."
He doesn't deserve it. Hinata hardly knows him. Wonders why not someone in their own village, less incomplete and- Why not Sasuke? Why not the one able to light up Sakura's life?
"Don't leave."
"Thank you," he says, knowing deep down he's unworthy of anyone's kindness.
She smiles up at him. "Do you want children?"
No, not at all. "No." None of his. Wouldn't want to pass down any of him. There's not a single reason for him to want to. No good enough excuse.
"I see." There's more she leaves unsaid—he can always tell. People biting their tongues, swallowing their words; it's almost a given in his company. She's already spoken beyond the obligatory amount, has graced him with more attention than deemed necessary. "Sakura loves them. Children I mean."
He doesn't remember ever asking, which, in hindsight, maybe he should have. It sounds like her, and the idea of more of her brings a small smile to his face—the inheritance of her compassion, devotion, talent and even beauty. "She'd be a good mother."
"I agree."
He glances Hinata's way, takes in her gentle expression, knows despite not knowing her that well—supposes sometimes it's more a sense, an intuition—and offers: "You'll be too."
Her smile widens, gaze flicking down for a second, moves to say something when a sound interrupts her.
Sakura emerges into the garden, the sun warming her features, reflecting off of streaks of shining pink, highlighting her beauty. His smile is instantaneous, an almost automatic response to her presence—it falters when he notices the distress she attempts to hide.
"I think we should go. It's getting late, and…"
He nods, immediately turns to Hinata, offering her a courteous thank you and goodbye, wishes her and her child the best. Behind him he hears Naruto address Sakura, turns towards the two as they speak. He notices how she wraps her arms around herself, gaze distant as she blinks against the subtle misting of her eyes. He doesn't know what upset her, supposes it doesn't matter so long as he can help. He's seen the way comfort is offered, most often following in his wake; there to soothe others in consequence of his presence. Too often he's observed the stroking of hands along trembling brows and arms embracing shaking shoulders. Knows even Sakura has used touch for comfort before. Yet it doesn't seem appropriate, feels too unnatural coming from him. But—right now—there's little else he can do, sees the way she curls in on herself, almost as if slowly crumbling in spite of her own resistance.
He ignores the drumming of his pulse, starts to lift his arm and steps up behind her. Softly, he touches her shoulder to avoid startling her, feels artificial going through the motion. Then, as gently as he's capable of, his fingers slide down to her back, careful enough not to frighten or offend. He feigns confidence, wears it as he would his Kage robes.
"Thank you, Naruto," he says, and—as he speaks—feels her lean into him, filling a need previously unknown. This. This must be what it means to feel needed. Not simply as a leader or weapon, but as a human being. This is what might just prompt one to utter the words 'don't leave' to him, because—contrary to all he's known—for once the alternative offers less safety than his presence. Her acceptance emboldens him, helps him politely wrap up their leave, a slight rush passing through—skittish pulse dancing beneath flushed skin, trilling anew and onward. She remains linked to him, doesn't move away as soon as the necessity of his gesture expires. She chooses to prolong their touch, willingly allows him to learn the sway of her back, read the movement of muscle beneath skin. It's personal now, each motion equal to a purpose, originating from streams of thought and translating into action. To touch, he discovers, is to link one conscience to another, to commune without words.
The warmth of her seeps into his fingertips, sends a numbness through his limb. It's a wholly unique kind of heat, comes closest to the feel of stone imbued with the sun's energy, grains of sand soaked similarly. Still seems entirely different; alive and moving and all the cold earth could never hope to mimic. All he could never hope to… But this'll do, stolen or not. It'll be enough. Has to be enough. It's what he mentally repeats with hardly any avail, holds on to with straining resolve as night arrives. There, bathed only in moonlight and cradled by shadow, he feels the words start to slip—slip, slip… Until they're hardly phrases, barely a sound. Barely a thought to begin with. Truth is he yearns for all he's been denied—both by others and himself. Human connection as viewed through rational dogma seems like no more than a foolhardy, sentimental pursuit. Now seems to him the only reason for his beating heart, expanding lungs, emotional mind.
What wasted air should breath be when its singular purpose is to resuscitate the same barren existence, over and over again—like futile spells of fleeting rain over arid desert lands. Barely enough for coarse vegetation to survive, forced bristly and razor-sharp. Until all that remains thwarts touch through needled skin. Still he wants. Hungers for the unreachable downpour nourishing all those deemed deserving, brimming with life and reflecting a shine he wishes might one day be meant for him. Thinks. Again and again; mulls over Hinata's words, carefully considers her silences too. Slowly realises the revelation hidden in her quiet, understanding unfolding as he voices all those thoughts aloud.
"We're nothing alike," he hears himself say, feels the strain of truth wear down his defence. It's easier being distant, out of reach. Doesn't enjoy the rough grate of being him, forced down in an unwelcoming shadow of tendon and bone. She never said so—didn't have to—but if anything were to be gleaned from Hinata's unspoken honesty, it's that Naruto didn't choose him, didn't think to invite him either. He starts to realise she, for whatever reason, was the one who did. "Yes, we've had similar experiences, but he and I are worlds apart." What sense is there to be found in such a baseless decision? Isn't anyone worth considering—isn't anyone, hasn't ever been- Not like him. There's no comparing the blood-soaked rearing of vengeance to- To Naruto who, despite his many flaws, never once robbed the innocent of their warmth, their love, their life. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to..." Never wanted to drag Sakura along, all the way down to a level no human should ever find themselves. It's selfish, just like coming here was. Should have never went, knows better than to endanger the vulnerable control of-
Skin to skin; her fingertips part his hair, trickle along his forehead. "Please, don't be," she says, unaware of the shuddering chasm she leaves behind, greedily yawning with hunger. "I understand." Don't leave, the thought returns, roars and begs. Don't leave. Memories of arms circling his waist, weight against his stomach. The stirring drum of a pulse to match his own. Don't leave. Don't- Longingly gazes after the retreating limb, meets those moon-filled eyes awarded its pale shine. In that moment, within the comfortable hold of her gaze, he knows she sees him for all he is and all he denies being. He's seen, and in turn his body pleads, fills him with a frenzied tremor. Wants those arms of hers circling bare skin, wants, wants, hands and- Don't leave, he silently beseeches. What worth could be derived from his existing? Here only to be of use and be used—to reach with bloodied limbs for a redemption no one's truly capable of granting. Knows he'll never again find the peace he'd so briefly achieved when her cheek warmed his chest and… Can't even remember the words he'd so carefully arranged in his mind, empty attempts at convincing himself; reminders that here isn't where he's supposed to be. Please don't leave, he thinks instead, feels his body move in a silent plea, creates a space for her to settle into and award him just one moment more... Just one, only once. Once more has to be- Needs to be…
Never will be enough.
A/N: Very sorry to have fallen behind on updating this fic on here. All new chapters can be found on AO3, but I'll be uploading everything here too.