Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any characters associated with it.

A One Month Bet

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

"Sorry…"

Sakura walked quietly along, consumed in her own thoughts. A large, gruff man grunted his disapproval as he shoved past her, but she hardly noticed nor cared. She felt like a shadow, numb to her surroundings, and yet stuck in the middle of everything all at once. It made no difference that she'd released her students early; her two-hour break had been wasted wandering along the streets of Sunagakure. She'd meandered past the main market street, into the housing districts, and looped back towards the hospital. It did not matter where she went—eventually I'll have to go back there, she thought, I'll have to go back to him.

The longer she delayed her return to the Kazekage tower, the more threatening the inevitable became. She could not leave, disappear back to Konoha. It would be shameful to not complete her mission, never mind her bet. She still had a little less than two weeks until her torment could end.

But will I last that long? she wondered. Of course her feelings for Gaara were inescapable—she'd found him handsome from the moment she'd stepped in his office. But this… This was much more dangerous. Too feel such despair as she had at the thought of leaving Suna, of leaving Gaara behind, was downright foolish. Wrong, unacceptable, inviolable on a number of different levels. He was the fucking Kazekage!

You should know your place by now, Haruno, she thought bitterly. You'd be better off dating Naruto.

Why did it always seem as though she was doomed to fall for the men she could not have? Sasuke had abandoned her, practically cut out her own heart and handed it to her, the day he left the village. And yet she'd still pursued him for years, finally giving up only after her jonin induction. Now she was cursed with thoughts and feelings for a man she would definitely never stand a chance with: Different rank, different village, different… everything. Gaara could never return her feelings. How could any earthly possibility of such a thing exist? He probably felt nothing but indifference for her. Sure, a certain number of lines had been crossed in their relationship recently, but it did not change their relationship as a whole: he was still the Kazekage, and she was still just plain, old Haruno Sakura.

Sakura wrapped her arms around herself as she rounded a street corner by the hospital. Once again, she found herself on familiar ground. Medic nin ambled about the area, stopping for quick meals and hot tea to-go. Vendors called out, offering the same smoked pork, the same rice pastries, the same beef ramen they had been two hours ago. The carts and the people and the sandy-colored street were the same. The sky was still a clear, endless blue. The air was still thick and warm, laced with the scents hot broth and straw.

Nothing around her had changed very much in so short an amount of time, but Sakura felt as though she'd undergone a change of a lifetime. She knew now; she had feelings, deep, emotional, forbidden feelings for Subaku no Gaara, and still the world turned on.

"Sensei? Sakura-sensei, are you alright?"

Sakura glanced up to see the familiar face of one of her students, Miekuyu, gazing at her with concern splayed across his features. She released her self-conscious clutch-hold and offered a weak smile. "Oh, yes of course, Miekuyu. I'm fine."

The young man did not seem convinced, and he offered his hand toward her. "Are you sure, Sakura-sensei? Would you like me to escort you back to your hotel?"

Sakura nearly scoffed at the irony. If only she had the solitude of a hotel to return to in the first place. "That's alright. I was just heading back to…back to the Kazekage tower now." With a shaky sigh, she added, "Thank you."

Miekuyu bowed dutifully and said, "Yes, Sensei, as you wish. But, if you'll permit me, I must say that you're not looking very well at the moment. Are you sure you don't need an escort to the tower? Or perhaps you would like to rest a while here in the hospital?"

Sakura combed a hand through her petal-pink hair and barely stifled a groan. Miekuyu's concern was flattering, but hardly necessary and even a bit annoying. "I'll be fine. It's just the sun, I'm sure. No need to worry." She gave a shallow nod, eliciting another bow from him as she said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Miekuyu. Good day."

She kicked back into motion, this time with a set destination in mind. It was time to return to the mansion; she refused to avoid it any longer. She could not deny her feelings for the Kazekage, but perhaps she could ignore them for the remainder of her stay in Suna. Just focus on your work, she instructed herself. He's been hiding away for the past few days anyways… maybe you can continue to go unnoticed. Write your reports for Tsunade, plan a decent lesson schedule for the medics, and do not think about him. It's only for a little while longer. That's all you have to do.

Yeah, good luck with that, Inner Sakura sneered.

Rest. That's what she needed. A deep, replenishing slumber to clear her thoughts. Sakura made up her mind, then. She would return to the tower and go straight to bed, no exceptions. Not even if one of her students called to request tutoring. Not even if Temari offered much-needed girl time. Not even if Gaara called upon her himself. It was time to get back to her initial mission, and to do so, she would need some rest.

X

Gaara sighed as the last of the village elders finally departed from his office. It had been entirely too long a meeting, and it had not helped that his mind was constantly bombarded with thoughts of a specific kunoichi. Already he was concerned that he thought about her at all, though he'd recently accepted that he could no longer try to ignore the thoughts. The fact that she was interfering more and more with his position of leadership in the village, though, was truly disconcerting. Twice this evening, he'd been scolded by a particularly cranky elder member for appearing 'distracted'.

But he could not rid her from his mind. He'd resolved only days ago that he would no longer try to push her away, but since then he had barely seen her at all. Likewise, it seemed as though tonight would be the same unless he acted quickly. It was late enough in the evening that she would certainly be back in the mansion, but it would soon cease to be an acceptable hour in which to call upon her. Initially, a trivial aspect such as this would not have bothered him, but, recently, he felt less and less inclined to drive Sakura away in any manner.

A dull ache still raged through his muscles, and he felt fifty years older and much like the elders whom had just left his presence moments ago. With slow movements and a barely audible groan, Gaara pushed himself to his feet and walked towards the edge of his office. He leaned his body in the open door frame. "Mitaya," he called gruffly.

The sweet old woman stood quickly and bowed to him. "Kazekage-sama," she replied respectfully, "May I help you, sir?"

"Where is Haruno Sakura at the moment?" he asked, trying to appear largely indifferent to the Leaf kunoichi. Mitaya straightened and a small frown played on her lips.

"She looked ill when she returned this evening," she said evenly. "She told me that she needed to rest, so I would presume she is asleep, currently."

Ill? he wondered. How could she have become ill so suddenly? Yet another opportunity had been robbed of him, it seemed. Perhaps he would follow her example and turn in. It could do him no harm, since his body still protested at the slightest hint of movement. He'd really pushed himself to the brink on Sunday. He was still slowly recovering.

He sighed. "What time is it?" he asked wearily.

"Almost ten, sir."

Gaara tilted his head to the side. Nearly ten? That meeting had gone on longer than he'd anticipated. It was imperative, for there were speculations of holding the upcoming chunin exams in Suna, and as Kazekage, he insisted on knowing every detail in the planning. As a young man, however, it felt as though his entire day had been wasted.

"Sir?"

Gaara gazed at Mitaya, his loyal assistant. How was it that she was still working? Surely, a woman of her age should've been in bed by this hour… Suddenly, he felt a bit guilty. He should've had more respect for those older than him. It was up to him to dismiss her as necessary, yet tonight he'd forgotten.

"Ah," he grunted and turned is face away, "It's been a long day. You're free to go, Mitaya. I'm sorry you were kept waiting."

"Oh, it's no trouble, sir," Mitaya said bowing. "I hope you have a good night, sir."

Gaara nodded in acknowledgement and retreated back into his office. He organized his most recent work into a small, neat stack in the left corner of his desk, retrieved his gourd from its resting place against the wall, and clicked off the light. The darkness was so sudden that he retained a momentary stain of white on the inside of his eyelids. His eyes adjusted and he sighed, heading towards his sleeping quarters.

The Kazekage bedroom was unmatchable in grandeur, the most extravagant room in the whole of Suna. Or, so it was told. To Gaara, it was just another room. He had no way of knowing whether or not his dresser had the most available drawer space or if his bed had the softest pillows, and he doubted previous Kazekages would've known such information either. It was a grand room, to be certain, filled with cherry-stained wood furniture with accents of maroon, burnt-red, and gold. He had a large, expensive bed that filled much of the room, a handsome dresser that had a wide, ornately-framed mirror, and a spacious bathroom complete with a shower and bath.

But from Gaara's perspective, it was still just a room. A room that had once been inhabited by his father…by his mother. A room that four other Kazekages had lived and slept in. A room that Gaara spent little time in anyways. Truthfully, it felt more like a formality, like residence in the mansion itself. He only held the honor of sleeping in this room because he held the honor of the Kage title. It was only ironic misfortune that he still retained his insomniatic habits.

Gaara sighed as he stepped into the darkness of his bedroom. Moonlight splayed from his window, stretching a pale blue sheen over the furniture, walls, and floor. It illuminated the gold accents inlaid into the deep red material of his bed coverings and chased away the darkest shadows of the room. Others might've complained about the brightness of the moon on a night such as this one, but to Gaara, it was one of the few redeeming qualities of this room. He could lay in bed for hours and just gaze at it, memorizing every crater and outline. He used to love gazing at the moon every night, back when it felt like the moon was his only real companion. When everyone else went to sleep, the moon was always there, be it a full face or just a sliver. He'd seen every phase of the moon throughout his lifetime, had mapped out its changes night by night. New moons were the worst—it made the world seem even darker and the sky seem lonely. But Luna would always return, without fail, and it was something Gaara found comfort in.

Luckily, he could see the moon no matter where he went, so oftentimes he didn't even make an effort to sleep in his room. Despite his recently acquired ability to sleep, it still proved difficult to accomplish on occasion. Shukaku still tormented his dreams, memories of the pain and hatred he endured. There were so many nightmares, so many images… the faces of people he'd killed, Yashamaru's last words, the unbearable pain of having his soul ripped in two…

It was just easier to stay awake and stare at the white face of his lunar friend.

Tonight, however, his body was aching for sleep. His muscles were stiff and his limbs felt heavy. Gaara deposited his gourd by the edge of the bed and sat down. He kicked off his sandals, reached over his head, and pulled his uniform over, allowing the cool air to grace his chest and back. He exhaled a heavy sigh, relishing in the simple refreshment of air on his skin. He removed the few kunai he kept strapped to his left arm, stood, and untied the waist line of his pants. The garment dropped loosely to the floor. Now reduced only to a plain pair of undershorts, Gaara rolled slowly over the mattress of his bed, placing his weapons in close reach. He crossed his arms behind his head and looked out the window. The moon was beautiful tonight: proud, bold, and almost full.

I wonder what Sakura would think of the moon, he found himself musing. Would she appreciate its beauty like he did? Perhaps he would never know. He'd missed her once again tonight. She was probably asleep by now. What would happen if he slipped in to watch her?

Gaara's chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath. The idea was enticing, and he knew precisely what to do: he could send in his Third Eye to see if she was, in fact, asleep and then he could dematerialize into sand to slip in unnoticed. He would stand over her and memorize her every detail: the steady rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eye lashes as she dreamt. Perhaps he could even lie down next to her on the bed, hold her if she was having nightmares…

Now that's enough, he scolded his over-active imagination. His muscles protested at the very thought of using any more chakra. And, he reminded himself, there were still certain boundaries he could not cross. What would happen if Sakura were to wake up with him at her side? Firstly—and instinctively—she would probably trill to kill him. Every good shinobi keeps weapons close at hand, especially when he or she is sleeping. Secondly, she would most likely be angry and humiliated. He would be lauded as a letch for intruding on her privacy, or worse he might even be accused of voyeurism. Tsunade would be out for his head if Sakura ratted him out, not to no honest, tax-paying citizen would be willing to take orders from a Kazekage whom they believed to be a pervert.

But again, Gaara's mind returned to thoughts of Sakura's slender frame pressed up against him. He closed his eyes and imagined her head resting on his chest, with small strands of her delicate pink hair tickling his skin. He envisioned the slight pressure of her slim, muscular arm winding around his middle, holding tightly. Without thinking, he let one of his arms snake down to pull her closer, almost surprised when his hand collided with his own side, encircling nothing but air. He let it fall uselessly against the mattress and sighed. This is pointless, he thought foolishly. But it was comforting, in a masochistic sort of way. Feeling a bit like an idiot but no longer caring, Gaara reached behind his head and pulled one of several pillows down until it was resting by side. He simply wanted the presence of something next to him, so he let his arm lie across it, like it would if it were resting on the shoulder of a petite young woman. He sighed again and returned to his foolish, selfish thoughts, allowing the unfamiliar tug of slumber pull softly at his consciousness. Perhaps, this time, the nightmares would stay away.

X

Sakura rolled underneath her sheets, caught between being awake and staying asleep. She struggled to remain with the latter, for she didn't want to leave the dreamy feeling of strong arms wrapped around her or the heat of bare skin against bare skin. Whatever world she was dreaming in was too perfect to leave, and the incessant pull of the waking world depressed her. She felt her awareness shifting, shifting from dream to reality, and she was helpless to resist it. By the time her eyes cracked open, she felt like punching a hole through something. The dream had been so wonderful—why did it have to be interrupted so quickly? But her consciousness was already clearing, putting realistic memories back into place, reminding her of who and where she was. She groaned and closed her eyes, trying to coax back the dream. It was too late. All she had left were flitting little glimpses of warm, sun-tinted skin, dark red hair, and deep green irises.

Wait a minute…

Her eyes flew open and she flew to sitting position. Gaara! She was dreaming about Gaara! Sakura angrily drove a fist into the nearest pillow. "Damn it!" she cursed out loud. She couldn't escape the man, not even in sleep!

Sakura's anger dissipated, but her embarrassment did not. She could not close her eyes without remembering images from her dream. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and let her head hang down. At least it was an innocent dream, she thought. But immediately she began second-guessing herself. Her cheeks flared with heat and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It was innocent, wasn't it? she thought frantically. She couldn't remember… It just had to be innocent. Gaara was just holding her. That's was all the dream was. Nothing more…

Sakura took in a deep breath, trying to swallow down the mortification she felt. How could she expect to survive another two weeks of this? It just wasn't healthy. It was unrealistic to try and avoid him, especially now that he had infiltrated her subconscious.

Regardless, there was no way she could fall back asleep now. She checked the clock by her bed and groaned as it clicked mockingly to 2:09 AM. A momentary shiver of shock crawled up her spine as her feet touched the cold wood floor, but it was gone a second later. Maybe she could go down to the kitchen and get a midnight (or rather, a two-in-the-freaking-morning) snack. Perhaps even a glass of milk. She'd gone to sleep so early that her natural clock was right on schedule. In a way, it was her own damn fault that she was awake right then. Sakura groaned and ambled slowly out into the hallway, a steady string of expletives running through her exhausted mind.

X

A strangled gasp broke through Gaara's parted lips as he awoke. He sat up quickly, the cool air chilling the sweat on his back and chest. Shallow breaths echoed off the walls of his bedroom, dancing and shuddering through the darkness.

"Ungh,"

Gaara scooted upward on his bed and leaned his head back against the headboard. Of all the nights in which to wake up prematurely, tonight had to be the worst. Firstly, his muscles still ached from last Sunday, protesting at even the slightest of movements. He obviously hadn't had enough time to recover. Secondly, this sleep had actually been enjoyable. No terrible thoughts or memories haunted his dreams tonight.

No, tonight was much different. He'd dreamt about Sakura.

But for some reason, he'd woken up abruptly. The memories in his head, though, were still fresh, still vivid. Flashes danced past Gaara's eyes as he remembered: pale pink hair as soft as flower petals, delicate porcelain-colored skin, the tickle of tiny, feminine fingertips along his skin, the beautiful ring of his name echoing off her voice… It suddenly felt too hot underneath his sheets, and he pulled them back. With a guilty glance at the crumpled pillow at his side, he suddenly realized why.

"Fuck."

Amongst the images and frenzied thoughts now cascading through his mind, that was the only word it seemed Gaara could articulate. He resolved to simply staring at the wall. His throat tasted sour and dry, and his legs felt weak. He'd heard tale of these kinds of dreams, but he'd never considered the fact that he might experience one first-hand, nor had he considered the consequences. It was…interesting. He swallowed several times, trying to force logical thoughts into the fuzziness of his mind. The images were so strong that it was hard to make sense of them.

Suddenly he felt ashamed, for both himself and Sakura. He fallen asleep imagining simple pleasures, such as having her by his side. That alone was borderline. This, however, was an embarrassment. As a Shinobi, as Kazekage, hell—even as a gentleman, he should have had more control over his own thoughts.

But very few people can have control over their dreams.

Gaara rubbed a tired hand down his face and glanced around. The moon had shifted in the sky, sending shadows into different parts of the room. Gaara swung his legs out of the bed and stood. He needed a distraction. Or maybe a stiff drink.

He changed into a longer pair of lounge pants and pulled his sleeping robe over his shoulders. There was no chance he could go back to sleep after that, not without eliciting the same explicit images.

X

The string of curses was growing louder in Sakura's mind as she rummaged through kitchen. She closed yet another cabinet door and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at the countertop.

"Seriously?" she asked it, "Only, like, three people actually live here. Where. Do they keep. The damn cups?"

The countertop did not answer.

Growling angrily, Sakura stooped over to look in the lower cabinets. She couldn't figure out who in their right minds would keep cups and glasses in the least accessible place in the kitchen, but then again, they obviously didn't keep them in the upper cabinets either. She would probably have to go searching in the damn drawers next.

X

Gaara moved quietly through the hallway. He paused at Sakura's door. It was slightly ajar, and he was tempted to look in, but again he felt shame encroaching on his mind. A small sound from down the hallway suddenly caught his attention. He lost interest in Sakura's door and continued on, cautiously and quietly. Somewhere, it seemed, a light was turned on. If it were an enemy, they would not have bothered turning on any lights, so he relaxed a bit. He kept moving, nearer and nearer. Someone was in the kitchen.

He heard a muffled curse word.

Apparently, someone angry was in the kitchen.

He rounded a corner and pushed quietly through the entryway. His eyes adjusted to the light, and there she was.

There it was.

Sakura's beautiful, rounded, barely covered rear.

Sakura stiffened almost instantly, sensing the new presence as soon as it entered the room. Whoever the person was, they weren't saying anything, and Sakura became wary. Very slowly, she straightened, scanning the countertop for her defense options. Why had she left her shuriken in the bedroom? How could she have been so careless? A kunoichi should never go anywhere without some kind of weapon. Her eyes spotted a tall jar with several handles sticking out of it. If she moved quickly enough, she could throw one of the objects at the intruder, taking them by surprise and giving her a chance to find something else, preferably something sharp. She felt her heart rate increase as adrenaline flooded her body. On three, she instructed herself, One, two…

Three! Sakura grabbed a random handle and threw it like a kunai at the intruder.

The wooden spoon connected with Gaara's forehead with a small tuck and clattered uselessly to the floor. Surprised and shocked, Gaara fell backwards, landing hard on his back side. He stared up at the ceiling in confusion. One second he'd been admiring the true beauty of Mother Nature's grace and now suddenly he was on his back with a piercing pain shooting through his head. Damn.

"Gaara!"

Sakura couldn't believe what she'd just done. Or how she done it. No one ever landed a blow on Subaku no Gaara. She'd only ever witnessed it happen once or twice in her lifetime. She quickly rushed over to his side and stood over him. "Gaara? I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

Gaara blinked several times and focused on her face. She looked worried, concerned, and it surprised him. He sat up with a groan, but said nothing else, and Sakura became increasingly worried.

She leaned over him, examining his head like any medic would. "I'm so, so sorry. I thought you were an intruder or something. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Gaara gruffed.

"Let me just check, okay?" Sakura rubbed her thumbs over the point of impact and Gaara grimaced, instinctively pulling away from the pain. "Hold still," she said quietly. With carefully measured breaths, Sakura focused tiny amounts of chakra at the point at which she'd hit him. Head wounds were extremely dangerous, and only the most skilled of medic nin were able to successfully use chakra to heal them. It was simply too risky to tamper with anything remotely near the brain or spinal cord, but Sakura knew what she was doing. There was no sign of blood or skull trauma, but she wanted to be absolutely sure. It was a big spoon, and she'd thrown it pretty hard.

Rubbing her fingers through his hair and over his kanji mark was an added bonus, though.

Gaara felt a pinpoint of warmth on his forehead, and the pain began diminishing until it was nothing more than a dull ache. Sakura was focused on his head, but his eyes were left to wander. The last time they'd been this close, he and she, was last Saturday. He could feel her warmth and smell the sweetness of her skin, just like before, except this time there was no presence of alcohol. She was wearing hardly anything, just a pale pink tank top and light grey sleeping shorts. He gulped self-consciously, memories of his dream sparking back to life.

"Alright. I'm done." She sat back into a kneeling position. Gaara was disappointed to have her warmth recede. "I think you'll be fine." Gaara exhaled a sigh, secretly glad that she had smoothed over any bump or injury he might've had. If there had been any lasting consequences from that damn spoon, he would've never heard the end of it: The Great Kazekage, flattened by kitchen utensil.

"At least it wasn't a fork," he muttered with relief.

Sakura chewed on her lip, embarrassment clouding her features. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Where's your gourd? Isn't the sand supposed to protect you?"

Gaara's face became blank. "Must I always have it with me?"

Sakura immediately regretted her question. How could I be so stupid? It just seemed to be a part of him in some ways, but it wasn't her place to question its absence. She needed to change the subject.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked.

Gaara flicked her a sideways glance. He couldn't very well tell her that she'd played the leading female role in his sensual dream tonight. A sickening feeling of perversion washed over him, and he attempted to draw attention away from himself. "What are you doing in here?" he countered.

Sakura looked taken aback, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I couldn't sleep," she explained, "I came down here to get a drink of milk."

Gaara tilted his head at gazed at her from an angle, still averting her question. "You were looking for milk in the bottom cupboards?"

Sakura's breath hitched and pink flooded her cheeks, mirroring her gently tousled hair. Gaara couldn't help but smirk. "I was looking for a cup!" she said defensively, "It's not my fault you don't keep them in any normal places!"

Gaara pushed himself off the floor, and Sakura stumbled backward before also scrambling to her feet. Without saying anything, Gaara opened the refrigerator and retrieved two glasses from inside the door.

Sakura simply stared as he closed the refrigerator door and handed her one of the chilly glasses. It was already fogging up from the heat of the room. "You keep your cups in the fridge?" she asked slowly.

Gaara shrugged. "I like my glasses chilled."

"All of them? All of your cups are in the refrigerator?"

Gaara looked as though he couldn't understand her disbelief. "Only three people live here."

Sakura felt like throwing another spoon at him.

They gazed at each other for several awkward moments… this was the most they'd ever spoken to each other in a normal, non-work-related capacity, and it was apparently slightly disarming for both parties. Not sure what else to say, the young Kazekage crossed the room and reached into a small hutch in the corner. He pulled out a short, wide bottle of amber liquid, popped the cork on top, and poured some into his glass. Sakura chewed her lip in confusion.

"You drink?" she asked.

Gaara glanced up as though surprised that she'd been watching him. He crossed back to the fridge, retrieved a handful of ice cubes from the freezer, and plopped them in his glass before saying, "Just because I refuse to go partying with my brother and sister doesn't mean I don't occasionally have a drink or two." He tried to give her what he thought would be a casual smile, but it barely came across as a shy smirk. Sakura nearly melted. She had already resolved to distance herself from this man as much as possible, and yet here he was, standing mere feet from her, wearing nothing but a thin, dark black and red robe and loose black pants. She could see his chest, rising and falling with every breath, see his muscles rippling when he turned to face her.

She exhaled a few short breaths and clutched onto her glass. The longer she looked at him, the less she could keep her thoughts in check. "Oh," said breathily, "That, um… that sounds reasonable."

Gaara was watching her intently. He could tell she was embarrassed by his appearance, but then again, she was wearing even less than he was. It seemed to be a miracle that he was still able to form coherent sentences while looking at her. You're not trying to push her way anymore, he reminded himself. Be polite.

Gaara cleared his throat and looked off somewhere to his right so that he could not see her face clearly. Again, moments passed in silence. They simply stood apart from each other, neither one looking at the other. Finally, Sakura took a deep, audible breath.

You have to get out of here, she instructed herself. Get your milk and leave, before you do something stupid. "Well,' she said hesitantly, "I suppose I'll just, um, get my milk to-go." Milk-to-go? Inner Sakura sneered, So lame. You sounded so lame just then. Sakura tried to edge toward the refrigerator, but Gaara was still partially angled in front of it. He tilted his head and gazed down at her, the dark rings of his eyes illuminating the green irises they surrounded. He looked as if he was pondering something, calculating, but Sakura didn't dare ask what it was.

After a long while, Gaara took a swig from his drink. He still wasn't looking at Sakura, but he leaned his shoulder against the fridge, thus blocking any chance of her actually retrieving her beverage. Sakura swallowed thickly and crossed her arms. It just wasn't fair how undeniably attractive the man was. Even just standing there with him in a kitchen felt inappropriate, especially when it proved a physical difficulty to draw her eyes away from any and every exposed bit of skin on his body. Was he toying with her? Could he somehow know what she was thinking? How could he see nothing wrong with their current situation? Two weeks ago, he probably would've sent her back to Konoha for rummaging through his kitchen in the middle of the night. He had simply despised her that much. But now… now they were having a candid, half-naked conversation together, and she was struggling to fight down indulgent, dirty thoughts about him. What had changed?

"…me?"

Sakura blinked several times, suddenly registering the fact that Gaara's eyes were now locked on hers. Shit. He said something, and she'd been so busy being confused that she'd missed it. She uncrossed her arms and shook her head. It would be rude to admit that she had not been listening. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked apologetically.

Sakura watched Gaara's Adam's apple dip as he swallowed, eyeing her directly. "Are you sure," he spoke slowly, "that you want milk, or would you rather have a drink with me?"

Gaara took a slow steady breath to calm himself. He'd never invited a woman to join him for anything before. He felt a new, fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. Nervousness, he assumed. But he would not allow those feelings to show outwardly. He needed to appear confident, for he was testing Sakura now, testing to see what she would choose. If she was smart, she would refuse him, retrieve her milk, and return to her room. But that would be her decision. He did not order her to join him, no—he wanted to hear it for himself, wanted to hear her acceptance or refusal right there in front of him. Because having a drink with him, under the current circumstances, was more than a formality between allies, more than regulation between superior and underling. By inviting her to join him, he was breeching those boundaries once and for all. Gaara knew this. Sakura knew this. And she would be the determining factor.

Sakura gazed at him in awe. It could not be possible. Had she heard correctly? Her mind was screaming, No, no, no! but her heart was begging otherwise. This was the exact opposite of her resolution. If she said yes now, it would be like selling her soul, giving into her attraction, only to have it ripped away in less than two weeks. Gaara couldn't know, couldn't possibly know what she was going through, or else he would not have offered. They had a very strict relationship, Kazekage and Leaf kunoichi. Yes, she had crossed a line on Saturday, but… but she had assumed that did not matter, in the long-run. Their formalities, their duties, their statuses had not changed.

This, however, had the capacity to alter all that.

And on the other hand, it could completely devastate any hopes Sakura had of a happy ending. What if she accepted? Enjoyed this night with Gaara, not as the Kazekage, but as himself, a young man? And what if he went back to ignoring her in the morning? Sakura felt it would be like having her heart wrenched out all over again. She would have to see him and look at him, give him progress reports daily, just as she had before, all the while knowing they had shared this moment and realizing that it meant nothing.

Maybe you're just overreacting, Inner Sakura suggested. People have drinks together all the time. It doesn't mean you're making any kind of lasting commitment, right? Maybe he's offering so you can finally resolve this big misunderstanding…

Gaara held his breath while Sakura gaped at him. She seemed petrified. She had not moved since hearing his proposal. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks slightly pink, and her mouth open ever so slightly. Her lips were curved downward in shock or discontent—he didn't know. She didn't look pleased, and that was all that concerned him. But he waited patiently for her reply, still determined to hear a direct answer. At long last, she moved; she lifted the glass so that she was clutching it tightly with both hands and gazing down into its emptiness. Gaara knew then: she was going to say no. He pushed himself off the refrigerator and angled away from her, determined to conceal his disappointment. I should have known better…

"Alright."

Gaara turned back quickly. Sakura was looking straight at him, but the sea-foam green in her eyes revealed a storm of emotions. She looked unsure and hesitant, but he'd heard the words he needed to hear. Somehow, someway, he would find his middle ground, and he would show her that she had nothing to fear. He held out his hand, and Sakura gave him her glass, which he filled in the same way as his own.

"Thank you," Sakura muttered when he handed it back to her.

"You're welcome," he replied, "Come with me."

Watch out for flying wooden spoons. They can be hazardous.

Humbly yours,

Olly