"Bang, bang, bang!" The door rattled violently under Kankuro's relentless pounding. "I know you're in there, Gaara!" his voice blared through the room.
Sakura practically flew off Gaara's lap, her heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit," she whispered under her breath, frantically tugging her shirt back into place. It had ridden up during their previous activity, and her hair was a tangled mess that would make it obvious what had just happened. She ran her fingers through it, trying to tame the wild strands, but it was no use. Kankuro would take one look at her and know exactly what was up.
"Where the hell are my slippers?" she muttered, scanning the floor with growing desperation.
Meanwhile, Gaara remained seated, calm as ever, watching her with an almost amused expression. He nearly chuckled but knew better—Sakura might kill him if he did. "Calm down, woman. It's just Kankuro," he said, his tone soothing but slightly teasing.
Sakura shot him a look as she finally spotted one slipper half-hidden under a shelf. She yanked it free and slipped it on. "Exactly—it's Kankuro! He's going to tease us for life! Frankly, you should be worried. Anyone, literally anyone, would be better than Kankuro finding us," she whispered urgently, pointing between them. "We're never going to know peace in this house. We could move to another village, and he'd still find a way to tease us!"
Gaara chuckled at her exaggeration, though her concerns were valid. "You're right," he sighed, thinking about how unbearable it would be to endure Kankuro's teasing for the rest of his life.
"Bang!" The door shook again. "For fuck's sake, Gaara, open the damn door!"
Sakura looked at Gaara with wide, worried eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll go out first. Keep your chakra masked until I lead him downstairs."
Sakura exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. She nodded, ducking behind one of the shelves hidden from the door's view. "This is ridiculous, but it has to be done. I still have a social integrity to maintain here," she thought as she crouched down.
Gaara stood up and opened the door. "Geez, man, what took you so long? What were you doing in there, anyway?" Kankuro asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
"I was asleep, but your annoying voice woke me up. What do you want?" Gaara's lie slipped out smoothly, his expression betraying nothing.
Sakura stifled a giggle. Who knew Gaara could be such a good liar?
As she listened to their footsteps recede, she heard Kankuro mumble, "I could've sworn I heard someone else's voice in there…"
"Probably the voices in your head," Gaara deadpanned.
Sakura had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from cackling. She waited a few minutes, her heart still pounding, and when she was sure they were downstairs, she bolted to her room.
As she leaned against the door, her breath finally caught up with her racing heart. Everything that happened began to dawn on her, each moment replaying with vivid clarity. There was no mistake to blame this time, no fleeting excuse to hide behind. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.
" Understatement of the year," inner Sakura piped up.
Fine, they had made out and dry-humped each other. Kami, she had dry-humped the Kazekage. If someone had told her a few months ago that this would happen between her and Gaara of all people, she'd have personally escorted them to the psych ward. But here she was, breathless, heart still hammering from the aftermath.
Her attraction to Gaara was clearly stronger than she'd ever let herself believe. Kami, the things his mouth could do…no girl could resist that. Her body still tingled from the memory of his touch, and they didn't even have sex. The way his hands had moved over her skin like he knew exactly where she was most sensitive. How was she going to look him in the eyes again?
Ignore it? No, she banished the thought. They were just two adults, people of the opposite sex who happened to be attracted to each other. This is what people who are attracted to each other do all the time—they kiss, they make out, they… have no-strings-attached sex. Not that she was planning to go that far, but really, what was so wrong with having some sexual fun every once in a while?
Sakura almost laughed at her thoughts. Ino would be so proud of her. But really, she had enjoyed herself, and she was sure he did too. There was nothing to be ashamed of, she decided. She had explored a side of herself she hadn't fully acknowledged before, and she liked it. With that final thought, she pushed off from the door and headed to the bathroom, the sticky feeling between her legs reminding her of just how real it had all been.
The next day, Sakura was up and early for her hospital duties and no she wasn't avoiding Gaara, she just had a busy schedule which was weird because it was a Saturday, she was supposed to be on her day off but Keita wanted her to meet him at the hospital so they could go meet up with Patient zero's husband. This was the last surviving patient so hopefully their journey would not be in vain.
Sakura picked up her hot coffee from the coffee maker, savoring the comforting warmth in her hands as she made her way to Keita's office. The early morning light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow on the quiet hallway. It was just over 6 a.m., and the hospital was still in that peaceful lull before the full hustle of the day began.
As she walked, the faint buzz of conversation reached her ears. Two nurses on the morning shift were chattering, their voices carrying the usual morning gossip. Sakura shook her head at their shenanigans, a small smile tugging at her lips, but she halted when she heard Gaara's name.
"Just keep moving ", she told herself, forcing her feet to take another step. It's unbecoming to listen to their useless gossip.
But then she heard Matsuri's name.
"Matsuri is so full of herself now, we used to be friends in ninja high," nurse one said, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Really?" nurse two questioned, doubtful.
"Yes, that bitch got picked by the Kazekage and thinks she's better than everyone."
Sakura's grip on her coffee cup tightened, but she tried to shake off the curiosity bubbling up inside her. This is stupid , she scolded herself. What are you doing listening to this?
But these nurses could be so mean, she thought. Calling Matsuri a bitch was a bit overboard. From what she had heard back in Konoha, Matsuri was Gaara's student from even before the war, and they were pretty close—platonically, like she and Naruto close. Although now Matsuri was a full-fledged woman, a pretty one at that, it's normal that other ladies are threatened.
"I really should get moving" she thought
And yet, her feet remained rooted to the spot.
"You know what, my friend who has a boyfriend in Anbu told me something really strange, but I'm not sure…"
"Spit it out," the other nurse urged.
The second nurse cleared her throat. "Well, she said that they might be, you know…lovers."
"Literally everyone knows that, she's a slut. What more can one expect?"
Sakura sighed, her heart sinking slightly even as she mentally chastised herself for caring. This is bullshit , she thought, shaking her head as she resumed her walk to Keita's office. There's no point in thinking about it. She tried to push the conversation out of her mind, focusing instead on the work ahead. Still, a tiny part of her couldn't help but wonder—was there any truth to it? She brushed the thought aside as she reached Keita's door, knocking, forgetting whatever she heard as he told her to come in.
"Great, I was just waiting for you," Keita piped as he clasped his sling bag shut. "Just getting my supplies packed."
Sakura looked at him like he had two heads. "Supplies? What for? You do know we're just going to be talking with her husband, right?" If he even agrees to talk to us, that is…
"We need to be prepared in case the wife spread the disease to him."
Sakura rolled her eyes. "It's been only women so far, remember? Have you been getting any sleep?" Sakura questioned with genuine concern this time.
"Not you too… Temari already moms me, I don't need anymore. Come on, let's go."
Sakura raised her hands in defense as Keita swooshed past her. "Geez, definitely not getting any sleep," she muttered to herself, a small smile playing on her lips as she followed him out.
As Sakura and Keita trudged down a not-too-lonely lane, they passed by early morning regulars—ninjas returning from missions, some just setting out, and the occasional resident drunk lagging about and muttering to himself. The shops lining the street were mostly still closed, though a few were just beginning to open, their owners moving about in the dim light, preparing for the day ahead.
A chilly breeze blew past, sending a small shiver through Sakura's frame. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, the cold air biting at her exposed skin. Suna could be so cold in the mornings and evenings, a stark contrast to the blazing heat of the afternoons. Dressing for the day was always a challenge—today she had opted for a light jacket over her usual attire, hoping it would be enough to keep the cold at bay.
The smell of freshly baked bread hit her nose, and she instinctively turned toward the source of the scent. It smelled so good that her stomach gave a small, appreciative growl. She made a mental note to pick up some bread on the way back.
They had been walking for quite some time now, but Sakura hardly noticed, her thoughts miles away. Yesterday had been eventful, to say the least, and she had been unable to get a lick of sleep last night. Every time she closed her eyes, a vivid reenactment of the steamy make-out session with Gaara played out in her mind. It was like a loop she couldn't escape. She began to wonder if he had used some kind of genjutsu on her to make her unable to forget. Nothing she tried worked—not even counting sheep.
She tried—really tried—not to dwell on it, but she couldn't help it. She didn't have much experience with stuff like this. Pining over one man for so many years had made her rusty. Still, none of the few men she'd made out with in Konoha had made her feel the way Gaara did. His kiss had ignited something in her that she didn't even know existed.
She'd managed to convince herself that it was normal for adults to do this sort of thing. But then there was the nagging thought: What were his motives? Up until recently, Gaara had barely spoken to her, rarely acknowledged her.
What if this was all just a game to him? She thought came at her despite her constant eluding. He probably did this kind of thing all the time, Gaara had his pick of women, after all. He was the Kazekage, powerful and ridiculously attractive. She was just… Sakura, the girl who had spent years pining for a man who never truly loved her back. She pushed the thought away, unwilling to let it take root, but the sting of it lingered. This was probably just fun for him.
She needed to keep reminding herself of that. Stop being so childish and attaching emotions to everything, she scolded herself. This is actually a perfect opportunity to let loose, have some fun, and try something different—that's what coming to Suna was all about, right?
And now, there was also that birthday party. The only reason she'd agreed to go was to distract herself from Gaara. Well, look at her now—distracted and confused.
Keita, noticing her silence, glanced over. "You're quiet today."
Sakura blinked, snapping back to the present. "Yeah, just... thinking."
"Must be some heavy thoughts to keep you this quiet," Keita teased lightly, though his eyes held a note of concern.
"I'm just tired, couldn't sleep last night." Technically it was the truth, he didn't need to know the details. She added a small smile to reassure him, but he seemed unconvinced.
"How are things with Gaara?" he asked, tone casual, though Sakura caught the perceptive edge to his words.
Her heart gave a small lurch at the mention of Gaara, but she quickly regained her composure, silently praying Keita didn't notice. The question had taken her by surprise, because frankly, she had been asking herself the same thing.
Her life had taken quite the turn since arriving in Suna. The Gaara she thought she knew seemed to exist only in her imagination. Maybe he had always been this way, and she just hadn't seen it. The reserved and conservative image of him was now being replaced by a much more complicated reality.
"What do you mean, how are things?" she replied, finally.
Keita looked at her with an amused expression, clearly not buying her attempt to dodge the question. "I mean, are you still fighting him?"
Sakura rolled her eyes. "I was never 'fighting' him," she mumbled, loud enough for Keita to hear.
"Righttt… you were just 'keeping your distance.'" Keita said, amusement playing on his lips.
Sakura nudged him playfully with her elbow. "Shut up," she said with a small smile. "Well, since you asked, things with Gaara are... okay. I think."
"Really?" Keita raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad. Kankuro will be relieved—poor guy was absolutely sick of being caught in the middle of your 'lovers' spat' with Gaara."
"L-lovers w-what?!" she sputtered, cheeks flushing red. Oh, she was so going to punch him.
But Keita, already reading her mind, swiftly dodged, laughing heartily. As funny as it was, he really didn't want to be on the receiving end of her famous punch.
"We're almost there," Keita muttered a few minutes later, just as they took a left into what appeared to be a quieter, more residential area.
"Finally," Sakura breathed out, she really hadn't planned to do a whole cardio this morning.
Sakura decided to take in her surroundings. This neighborhood was different from the ones they had passed earlier. The houses were built with the same stucco, all bearing very similar modern designs. Each had a well-groomed garden porch and stone pathways leading to the front door. "The streets are sparkly clean," she noted, impressed by the community's sense of order.
"We're here," Keita said, breaking her thoughts.
They had finally reached the home of Mr. Elma, husband of Mrs. Rie Elma, the only survivor and their most important lead. Confirming details with her husband and hopefully gathering more information about her pre-infection life could be crucial to understanding the symptoms. Apart from being women, what else did these cases have in common?
As they walked up the pathway, Sakura noticed the forlorn state of the garden—wilted flowers and overgrown weeds were a stark contrast to the well-tended gardens of the neighboring houses. A pang of empathy hit her chest. Perhaps the garden had been something his wife loved to care for, and now, in her absence, it had been left to wither.
Keita knocked on the door, three soft knocks, and they waited. Just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door creaked open.
"What do you want?" A gruff-looking man, whom Sakura assumed to be Mr. Elma, spoke from behind the slightly opened door, the keychain still latched. His eyes were sunken, dark circles casting shadows over his tired face, and his unshaven beard added years to his appearance. The harshness in his voice matched the weariness in his eyes.
Sakura could only imagine the turmoil he was going through. She hoped he would be willing to talk.
"Mr. Elma, we're here about your wife," Sakura said resolutely, deciding not to beat around the bush.
"Leave me alone," he muttered, moving to shut the door.
Sakura had expected a more aggressive reaction. She quickly placed her hand on the door, stopping it from closing. His eyes widened in surprise, then panic, as he tried to force the door shut, but his strength was no match for hers.
"We're from the hospital. We just want to help," Keita said, his tone diplomatic and calm.
Mr. Elma gave them a skeptical once-over. Sakura sighed softly, pulling out her hospital ID, Keita following suit. His demeanor softened, the hostility in his posture easing slightly.
"Just ten minutes," Sakura pleaded, noticing the shift in his resolve.
The man sighed deeply, the fight leaving him. He unlocked the keychain and opened the door fully.
"You're sure you're not just reporters trying to get a story?" he asked, his voice tinged with lingering suspicion.
"Nope, definitely not reporters," Keita replied with a faint smile.
Sakura sat beside Keita, nursing a steaming cup of hibiscus tea in her hands. The warmth seeped into her skin, warding off the early morning chill. Mr. Elma sat opposite them, his hunched posture and hollow eyes telling a story of deep grief.
She blew gingerly on her tea before taking a small sip, letting the soothing warmth calm her. Placing the cup gently back on the wooden table, she glanced around the room, noting the carefully chosen decorations. "You have a lovely home," she said, starting the conversation and genuinely meaning it. The decor suggested someone who loved beauty, who had taken the time to curate their surroundings with care.
"It used to be nicer when my wife was here," Mr. Elma replied wearily, his voice heavy with loss. "We'd collect cool stuff from all the villages we visited. She had an eye for these things."
"I'm so sorry about your wife," Sakura said softly. It was clear he loved her deeply, and the loss weighed heavily on him.
He nodded, taking a deep breath. "So, what do you want to know?" he asked after a moment, his voice tinged with resignation.
"What was your wife like?" Keita asked, breaking his silence. As usual, Keita was direct, but this time, his tone was softer, more considerate.
Mr. Elma seemed taken aback by the question, but after a moment, he answered. "My wife—she was the kindest person I've ever known. She wouldn't hurt a fly, you know?" His voice cracked, and he paused, as if gathering the strength to continue.
"She was a civilian like me. We both worked at Satoh Corps—I'm a scientist, she worked in marketing. We've been married for three years." He paused, his hands trembling slightly as he took a shaky breath. "She was the sweetest person you'd ever meet... until we got back from a brief vacation earlier this year."
"Vacation?" Sakura inquired, leaning forward slightly.
"My wife loved to travel. We'd visit different villages for short periods. It was her way of experiencing the world, I guess."
Sakura nodded, taking in the information. "So, when you got back from the vacation, you started noticing changes in her behavior?"
He nodded, his gaze distant. "Everything changed when we got back. It started slowly—she would get angry over small things. At first, I thought she was just stressed, but it kept getting worse. It didn't make sense."
"Was she stressing over something from work or home?" Keita asked, his tone gentle but probing.
Mr. Elma shook his head slowly. "None that I know of."
"Then, the paranoia started. She thought everyone was out to get her. At some point, she even believed I was one of those people. It was like her personality took a turn into something unrecognizable." He ran a hand roughly through his hair, his voice breaking as he continued.
Sakura and Keita remained silent, letting him take his time.
"She got fired from work soon after—she had become violent with her co-workers. That's when everything spiraled out of control. We fought all the time, and I'm ashamed to say it got physical sometimes. She was strong, so strong, there was no deescalating her. We even got reports from our neighbors. There were moments when she seemed like her old self again, but slowly, that other side of her took over completely."
"What do you mean by strong?" Sakura asked, her brows furrowing.
"Physically strong—stronger than me. I tried explaining this to the hospital, but they looked at me like I was crazy. No one would listen to me. They just threw her in the psych ward without looking into it. But I know what happened to her isn't ordinary. She's not some psycho. My wife is kind, she—she doesn't deserve this. Please, help her..." His voice broke as tears began to spill.
Sakura reached across the table, gently taking his hand in hers. She couldn't tell him that his wife wasn't the only victim—not yet, at least. It needed to remain a secret until they knew more. "We'll do everything we can to help her," she said softly, her heart aching for him.
By the time Sakura and Keita said their goodbyes to Mr. Elma, it was almost afternoon. They had spent more time than intended, but it had been worth it. The investigation had been fruitful, and Sakura was almost sure of one thing—this wasn't some virus. This was man-made.
"The other two victims that didn't make it..." Sakura started, her mind still on the gravity of their conversation with Mr. Elma.
"Don't worry about it. I'll check in with their husbands and let you know what I find," Keita interrupted gently.
Sakura smiled appreciatively at him. "Are you sure? I can join you—"
He waved his hand dismissively, a reassuring smile on his face. "Just focus on the science stuff, I got this."
"Okay... if you say so," Sakura replied, a hint of relief in her voice.
Just then, her stomach growled loudly, breaking the somber mood. Sakura's eyes widened in embarrassment. She'd completely forgotten to eat breakfast, and dinner last night had been skipped entirely.
"Sounds like someone's hungry," Keita teased, his tone light.
"Yeah, I didn't have breakfast this morning," Sakura admitted, rubbing her belly sheepishly.
"You're a doctor—you should know better," Keita scolded playfully. "Well… good thing I know this restaurant that serves the best breakfast."
Sakura chuckled, feeling the weight of the morning lift a little. "Ahhh, what would I do without you, my saving grace?"
"Absolutely nothing," Keita shot back with a grin.
Dry humping? He almost chuckled at the thought. He had come undone from something as juvenile as dry humping. He never thought it would be something he'd enjoy so much, but there was something intimate and sultry about it, he concluded that Sakura was a tease.
"So, what will you get, Gaara-san? The food here is really great," Matsuri chirped, glancing up from the menu.
Her high pitched voice had drawn Gaara away from his thoughts
"I'll have whatever," he replied, his voice flat, eyes drifting to the window beside their booth. He tuned out Matsuri's excited chatter about the exclusivity of the restaurant, irritation simmering in his chest with each passing second.
Gaara still wasn't sure why he'd let Matsuri drag him out for lunch. Guilt, perhaps. Breaking things off with her had been necessary, but he hadn't expected her to take it so well. When she'd asked, "Can we still be friends?" in that soft, almost nostalgic voice, it had tugged at something in him—a memory of the girl who once looked up to him with admiration, who had been content with friendship before things got... complicated.
He sighed inwardly, wondering what "friends" meant to her now. Agreeing to this lunch was a mistake; the vibrant atmosphere of the restaurant was grating on his nerves. At least they had a booth, some semblance of privacy, but still...
His gaze drifted outside, where a small flower shop across the street caught his attention. Men entered and exited, bouquets in hand, likely for their significant others. His mind wandered to Sakura, as it often did lately. What kind of flowers would she like? he mused absently.
And where had she run off to so early on a Saturday morning? Her chakra signature had been missing from the house, and he knew she didn't typically work weekends. Was she avoiding him again?
His thoughts circled back to yesterday—how she'd responded to his kiss, the way her body had fit against his. He hadn't planned to kiss her, much less anything else, but there was something about her that made him lose control. Maybe it was her defiance, her refusal to be cowed by him like others were. Or maybe it was the way she challenged him, resisted him... made him want her even more.
An imperceptible smile tugged at his lips as he remembered her soft moans, the way she had arched into him. She was intoxicating, and he wanted more. The memory of her breath hitching as his hands explored her body, the feel of her perfect, round bosom pressed against him, what wouldn't he give to have her perfect round bosom in his hands and mouth again—it was almost too much to handle. He could still feel the softness of her skin under his fingertips, the way she shivered when he touched her. He wanted to feel her writhing beneath him, to hear those sweet, breathless sounds as she came undone in his arms. He liked replaying that scene over and over again in his mind.
"Uhm, Gaara?"
Matsuri's voice jolted him from his less-than-honorable thoughts. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring out the window for far too long.
"Hmm?"
"Ren Satoh sent you his birthday invite like he usually does. Should I dispose of it? I know you never attend." Matsuri giggled, clearly expecting the usual response.
Gaara's eyes narrowed slightly. Every year, Ren Satoh invited him to that ridiculous birthday party, and every year, he discarded the invite without a second thought. He couldn't stand the man—cocky, arrogant, and the embodiment of everything Gaara despised. But this year was different. Ren had invited Sakura, his Sakura, and she had agreed to attend for whatever reason.
The thought of Sakura at that party, surrounded by the likes of Ren and other lecherous men, made his blood simmer. There was no way he could let her go alone.
"Keep the invite this year," he said, his tone final, ignoring the look of shock on Matsuri's face.
The beast within him stirred, " Such possessiveness" It taunted him
Gaara dismissed it. This wasn't possessiveness—it was simply a matter of ensuring Sakura's safety. At least, that's what he told himself.
Just then, the restaurant door chimed, and a flash of pink and red entered Gaara's vision. Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise. Sakura looked beautiful as usual, dressed in her signature red tanktop and tight shorts that stopped just above her knees, her jacket casually draped over one arm due to the lingering heat.
She was laughing at something, but as the sound faded, her jade eyes began to scan the restaurant, taking in her surroundings.
Gaara waited—1, 2, 3—and then her eyes met his. Her expression shifted from surprise to something more complex—nervousness, perhaps? Then, she blushed. He loved when she blushed for him.
"Gaara-san?" Matsuri's voice cut through his thoughts. When he didn't respond, she followed his gaze, turning to see who or what had captured his attention.
"Oh, it's Sakura-san... and Keita," she said aloud, a note of annoyance in her voice.
Gaara's focus had been so entirely on Sakura that he hadn't even noticed Keita entering behind her. His mood dampened instantly.
She had been with Keita the entire morning? Doing what? It was strange, he knew nothing was probably going on between them, but he still hated seeing them together.
His gaze returned to Sakura, but she was no longer looking at him. Instead, her expression had darkened, though he couldn't quite place the emotion. Was she upset?
Keita waved attheir table, then continued chatting with Sakura, much to Gaara's irritation.
Sakura felt a jolt of surprise at seeing Gaara here. When their eyes met, she realized he had already been watching her. She wanted to look away but found herself unable to. His gaze was like a magnet, pulling her in.
What was it about him? He could completely unnerve her with just a glance. He rested his chin on his hand, staring at her with an intensity that made her heart race.
In the vibrant light of the restaurant, his hair seemed a bit more unruly, a shade brighter than usual. How could he be any more good-looking?
The spell broke when she noticed the blob of brown hair peeking out from the booth, staring at her. He wasn't alone.
"Matsuri?" Keita's voice mirrored her own surprise as he waved to their table.
Just great. He's here with Matsuri, his assistant, who clearly harbors some sort of animosity toward her. An unwelcome bitterness spread through Sakura, despite her efforts to suppress it.
Keita managed to secure a table away from Gaara's, and she was thankful for that—or at least she told herself she was. As long as she couldn't see him and his... date. Okay maybe she was exaggerating, she's his assistant and it's probably just a friendly lunch date. But even if it wasn't... why did she care so much?
She let Keita order for her, her mind too preoccupied with a barrage of questions.
Why was he here with her on a Saturday? Could there be something going on between them? She chided herself for even entertaining the thought. Her mind involuntarily drifted back to the gossip she'd overheard earlier. Lovers? she had scoffed at the time, dismissing it as idle chatter. But now, seeing Matsuri sitting across from Gaara, her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Could it be true? The thought nagged at her, making her feel small and foolish for even caring.
Her time in Suna was limited, and it wasn't like anything serious could ever happen between them. She sighed inwardly, suddenly feeling a wave of despondency that dulled her appetite.
" You're jealous," inner Sakura chided.
"I'm not," she wanted to deny, but deep down, she knew it was true. A pang of insecurity gnawed at her, leaving her feeling used. At least now she knew where she stood with him.
"So, what do you think of the place?" Keita's voice cut through her thoughts, thankfully offering a distraction.
"Hmmm, it's very vibrant... I like it," she replied, trying to shake off the lingering hurt. The last thing she wanted was for Keita to notice something was amiss.
"Wait till you taste the food," he said, his tone light, though she could sense his genuine pleasure that she liked the place.
"Can't wait... I'm drooling already," Sakura joked, injecting a touch of sarcasm to mask her emotions.
"Well, don't get drool on your shirt," he shot back, chuckling.
Sakura gasped at his clever comeback, laughing along with him. Trust Keita to lift her spirits, even when she was feeling down. Temari was one lucky woman.
The entire time, a pair of jade eyes followed their every movement, Gaara's jaw tightening in barely concealed irritation.
A/N: If you've been following for a while, I'm really sorry I had to recall the majority of the chapters. I just really hated the writing. But no worries; I plan to finish this story.