To Runashi: Thank you for your review! I really liked that squirrel scene hahaha Hope you're safe!

I thought we were missing some proper mutual pinning and sexual innuendos, so here we are. Huehuehuehe

Enjoy, guys!

Once Gaara was alone, he lit the lights the garden.

Then, he waited.

Gaara waited, his arms crossed over his chest, still sitting at the table on the patio.

He waited for the day to rise, for the phone call he knew was coming.

He waited for the fight to begin.

Gaara touched his lips, the unwavering line was gone. He snarled. He smirked. And his stare drifted across the garden. It stopped on the potted plant Sakura hadn't put in the soil.

Gaara inclined his head, pushing back his chair to stand up. Darkness, the plants, they all coaxed his mind, and his steps were slow, calculated, like they had been in the illegal boxing ring years ago. Nothing had changed. He still prowled. He still did business like he had been taught to.

Like father, like son.

Gaara squatted down, frowning at the soil and flower she had bought. He turned the pot slowly, examining the shuddering plant. The leaves shone dully with splashes of yellow and deep green veins crisscrossing over them. The plant was still young, with only two budding flowers attached to its stem, but it was healthy.

Gaara wondered what made her pick this plant over another. It wasn't from the Fire Country. He would have expected her to pick a small pot of flowers. 'Or something pink,' he thought with disdain.

Gaara finally picked the pot up and moved it to the hedge at the back of the yard. With his foot he marked the soil, silently calculating how much it would need to grow and thrive and not kill the neighbouring plants.

He paused, uncomfortable.

His foot made a deeper imprint, the soil rising in fine dust around him.

Gaara put his hands in his pockets, hesitating again.

She would want to do this herself, he decided and turned away from the plant. He nodded to himself, rubbing at the back of his head to soothe the tension building there. His hand slid up his neck, and he rolled his head back. His hand moved up to touch his tattoo. Touch the monster lurking, there.

He was still waiting for the fight to begin.

Gaara walked back to the patio and sat down at the table, leaning back against his chair, he stretched his arm until he could reach of the stone circling the bushes. He moved it and retrieved another pack of cigarettes inside.

He smirked, his lips gnarled and twisted.

Kankuro and Gaara had stolen many of Shikamaru's packs over the years he had dated their sister. It had started as a prank. They now knew Shikamaru pretended not to notice, but Gaara couldn't imagine stopping now. It had become a habit.

He lit the cigarette and let it rest on the rock, thin smoke rising from its tip.

Gaara started writing neat instructions for Sakura for the plant. He hesitated again, his eyes finding her plant once more. He had never let anyone touch his garden. He started writing again, clarifying his instructions.

He couldn't let her destroy his garden.

'Our garden, honey,' Gaara could imagine Sakura saying it.

Gaara narrowed his eyes and scowled. He restarted the list on a new page.

His phone buzzed in his pocket 30 minutes later.

Dark excitement throbbing inside him, Gaara reached for the cigarette, looking at it, as he did when he started stealing them from Shikamaru at 11. He dropped it back on the rock before taking out his phone from his pocket and answering the call.

"Sabaku Gaara."

"Gaara-sama…" Matsuri's voice was ragged, split by hiccups and pants. "The supply chain..." Her voice wobbled and stopped, cut short.

Gaara picked the cigarette up a third time and took a drag from it. The tip burnt a deeper red. He made circles of smoke, his head hazy. He leaned farther back in his seat.

"It's broken, I know," Gaara said smoothly.

His insides twisted, his heart pounded. It had been years since he had last felt this way. 'Since I took back what was mine from Orochimaru,' he thought darkly. He hadn't fought in a long time. He snarled, rolling the smoke inside his mouth. He exhaled. He flicked the ashes away.

"How did you know? It just happened!" Matsuri squeaked.

"Because I expected it," he said simply.

Involuntarily, Gaara looked up at the balcony of the bedroom. He wondered if Sakura would shout at him liked Temari did when he was younger if she caught him smoking.

"Daisuke-sama is frantic..." Matsuri rambled on, and Gaara only half-listened.

He had made up his mind hours ago. He had known it would come to this. And it felt good. He felt solid, tensed, knotted, all parts of him unfolding in something that was purely him.

"Tell him I'm handling it," Gaara said and smirked in the darkness.

"O-okay... But..." Matsuri started nervously.

Gaara budded the cigarette on the rock, readjusting his cellphone over his ear.

"I'll leave in a couple of hours."

Gaara stood up and replaced the package behind the rock and picked up the cigarette to throw it out inside. Somehow, he didn't want Sakura to know.

"What about me, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri asked, and Gaara could almost see her straightening her back, forcing her nervousness out of her voice, out of her trembling hands.

"What do you need me to do?" she added with a firmer voice.

Gaara stepped inside and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen. His mind was empty. Normally, he would try to alleviate her anxiety. Normally, he would pause and try to consider her feelings or Daisuke's, but they seemed so far away now.

Everything was a whisper, a mere echo, in the creeping silence in his head.

He didn't care.

He was a self-loving demon.

He was Gaara.

"I'll call you later," he said from faraway, his voice cool and soft.

Gaara prowled in the darkness of his living room, his hand already dropping back to his side.

"H-hai!" she said and her voice screeched, muffled. His thumb moved across the screen to hang up.

He slid his phone back in his pocket.

Mechanically, Gaara opened the refrigerator and took out a water bottle. He put it next to his briefcase. He picked up his suitcase from the side of the door, then, he climbed up the stairs, never stopping. The wooden floor creaked softly under his weight.

He pushed open the bedroom door.

Silently, he moved in the walk-in closet and set his suitcase down. He picked the first two suits and two fresh shirts from the rack. He pulled at his own clothes, briefly glancing at Sakura's sleeping form. Her breathing was soft, undisturbed, her body buried under the blankets.

Quickly, he changed his shirt for a simple black sweatshirt.

Gaara slid his clothes in two garment bags, then dropped them in his suitcase along with boxers and socks. He removed his socks and dropped them in the laundry basket before picking a pair out of the drawer.

He stilled, turning his head back toward the bed.

She hadn't moved.

His breath grew shallower as he returned to the bedroom, his gaze drifting to the left night table. He pinched his lips, approaching it as silently as he could. She slept on the left side.

His side.

'Our side, honey.'

Gaara clenched his jaw, his bones snapping and grinding together as he approached the night table. He could see her face now. Gaara held his breath as he opened the drawer, watching her. There were another pack of cigarettes, his other set of car keys and a few leaflets of his old life. He picked up the car keys and closed the drawer.

Sakura mumbled in her sleep and rolled away.

Gaara relaxed when she had once more settled against the pillows, the blankets carefully tucked under her chin. 'At least, she doesn't snore,' he thought.

Gaara sat on the edge of the bed and put on his sock. He dropped the key and stilled, looking over his shoulder. He bent over and froze, his fingers grazing his car keys. He cocked his head to the side, the snarl curling back his lips over his teeth. He could see the imprints of the night table legs on the rug.

She had moved it.

Probably to hide something like he did.

Gaara stood up, his keys secured in his fist. He licked his lips. Silently, slowly, he leaned in until his head touched the wall to look behind the night table. The curve of his mouth deepened. There was a blue box resting carefully against the back of the table.

He glanced at his watch without seeing the numbers. They didn't hold him prisoner anymore. He didn't care.

He was Gaara, self-loving demon.

He reached for the box and grabbed it, easing out of its hiding place. Holding it, he stepped in front of the curtains. He edged the lid of the box up, risking a last glance toward her. She didn't move. He opened the box. He raised a brow. She hid letters, like a boring school girl.

He thumbed through them, disinterested, ready to close the lid when he saw the red ink on the last envelope. He pulled it up.

'YOU'RE ANNOYING' was written across it.

He read the address and the name.

Gaara re-read the name several times, a burning sensation settling in his guts. Crushing. Howling.

"Sasuke Uchiha," he mouthed.

His eyes gleaming, Gaara turned back toward her sleeping form, breathless, holding in and in. Growing.

She didn't move.

Numb, Gaara replaced the box where he found it, his head pounding. He could see Orichimaru's pale grip in the darkness, manipulating him through Sasuke. Through Sakura. Through Kin. He could see him arranging Sakura into his life, like he had done Kin, perfectly, smoothly. Until he was once more the little boy sitting across from him in his father's office.

"Sakura," Gaara said over her, his voice taut.

He felt himself grow darker, taller, sharper. A part of him shuddered. This part was quenched promptly. The silence was back, heavy, sinking in with the anger that burnt through him.

He didn't care.

He didn't care.

He cared about no one, but himself.

"Wake up," Gaara said louder, flatly.

"Hmmfp," Sakura mumbled, pressing her face to her pillow.

"Wake up."

Sakura growled, then rolled on her back. His car keys bit back in his palm, the pain dulled. He watched her, impassible. She turned her head, her hair standing out in impossible angles. She blinked rapidly, her gaze looking at the curtain, then at him.

"What time is it?" Sakura moaned and ran a hand through her hair. "It's still dark outside."

He turned his wrist, glancing at his watch briefly.

"Roughly 3 AM."

"Why did you wake me up?" Sakura sighed, tired, her hands on her stomach.

She bent her knees, then rolled to her side, away from him.

He clenched his jaw. There was a flash of anger, undisciplined and raw, exploding in his head. Sasuke Uchiha, of all men. Sasuke Uchiha who was coming after his family. After him. There was anger, then nothing. Crushed.

Gaara walked to the door, on the other side of the bed, so he would face her. Her eyes focused on him, wide and angry.

'Good,' Gaara thought. He was also angry. He understood anger.

"I need to leave," he said, even, and picked up his suitcase. "Now, listen," he hissed.

Sakura yawned loudly and sat up on the bed, the blanket and bed sheets clinging to her waist. She rubbed her face.

"Why?" she grumbled and shook her head. "You could have just left me a note."

Gaara ignored her.

"Temari will call, and I need you to go with her."

Her hands dropped to her knees, her mouth small and twisted with anger and surprise.

"What?" she stammered, then caught herself. She added through her teeth: "Why?"

"She texted me, and I'm not answering, so she'll call you next."

Gaara pushed back against the door and walked out of the bedroom. He heard her curse in her native language. She groaned and the bed sheets creaked and snapped, tossed aside. He reached the bottom of the stairs. Her feet pattered, fast.

She gripped his sleeve.

"Wait, Gaara-sama!" Sakura said sharply, her face red.

Without staring back, Gaara pulled out of her grasp.

She ran around him and held out her arms, blocking his exit.

His jaw worked. He hadn't expected her to be this difficult.

"I thought…" Sakaru let the sentence dangle, searching his face. It loomed, shrouded in darkness, greyish, his eyes shining, oily, uncomfortable. She took a step back and bit her below lip.

She couldn't fully express the dread that gnawed on pieces of her fractured mind.

'I thought we were okay,' Sakura said inwardly, her teeth sinking harder in her lip.

Gaara looked back at her, his car keys clicking softly as he moved them in his palm. Her gaze drifted to his hand.

"That's… That's not the brand of your car."

"Hn. I need you to tell Temari I took the other car," Gaara said dismissively and walked past her.

Blinking rapidly, Sakura didn't move at first.

Gaara stepped down in the entrance and put on his shoes.

Sakura spun with halting steps to look down at him.

"What other car?" Sakura asked shakily.

Gaara set his suitcase against the wall. In the same movement, he bent down and pulled his shoes toward him.

"The one in the garage."

She watched him, horrified, and swallowed with difficulty.

"You're not making any sense." Sakura exclaimed quietly, rubbing at her arms.

"Hn. Chiyo-baasan may also call you," Gaara added.

Her eyes widened, and the anger was gone. She was terrified.

Numbly, Gaara recoiled, but he also wanted to punish her. There was this doubt in his mind, Orochimaru's standing behind her, and he had never been angrier.

Sakura stood pale with her arms around herself, pleading him with her eyes.

He didn't care.

He didn't care.

But he still wouldn't move.

"You're avoiding her calls," Sakura breathed out, her voice extinguished. Her chin trembled. Her hands clasped more tightly around herself.

"Yes," Gaara said simply.

"Are you doing something stupid?" Sakura asked softly.

His eyes flashed with anger.

'Are you?'

His mind should have remained silent. There had always been a ritual. Pulsing anger, clenched fists, then nothing. He didn't care. Yet, she pierced through, with her eyes and terror, and there was no room left for his anger.

And Gaara still hoped, the way he had still hoped that Kin hadn't betrayed him, that Orochimaru hadn't played him. That the biggest monster, lurking in the darkness, had been under his bed.

'I can't do this again,' he thought, and finally, there was silence again.

He would fight and he would win.

He didn't care about her.

His mouth curled back, and Gaara reached for the door knob, unlocking it swiftly. He heard her step down, and he couldn't help but pause.

"When are you going to be back?" Sakura asked tentatively.

'Move,' Gaara silently commanded his hand. 'Move.'

"I don't know."

He didn't want to come back.

"You just left and came back…"

"I told you it won't be easy. This is what I meant," Gaara said icily, but his hand still wouldn't move over the doorknob.

He wished it would have been more sharply. More teeth, less whisper.

She took a step toward him.

"What if I call?" Sakura asked feebly. "Are you going to pick up?"

Gaara stared back at her hard, his face unreadable. He had wanted this to be real, to be simple, but even if she looked earnest, even if there hadn't been Kin's betrayal prowling and howling at the back of his head, he would still think that no one could ever truly love him.

He had been the naïve little boy too often.

And his back had been wide open each time.

And he never learned.

'No one can love me. My name is Gaara.'

"Don't call me with any one of my family standing next to you," Gaara said coldly.

He was always so naïve. So desperate.

He slammed the door after him.

There it was, the familiar silence in his head.

There it was, his bloodlust.

Sakura slept fitfully for the rest of the night, kicking off the bed sheets, and dragging them back under her chin in turns.

When morning came, Sakura stared at the ceiling, the quivering ceiling fan above her head, her mind reeling with the expression on his face. She sighed and rolled to her side, her hand grasping for her phone. She considered calling Ino, but it was the middle of the day in Konoha, so Ino was probably working. Her finger then hovered above Tenten's name.

Sakura hesitated then threw her phone away from her, groaning.

She buried her face in her hands, crying out her frustration.

A few minutes later, her phone rang, buzzing endlessly in the bed sheets.

Sakura froze. She grimaced, rubbing at her face, not moving immediately. She glanced between her fingers at her phone.

The number was blocked.

Temari.

Sakura arrived early at the coffee shop to meet with Temari. Their phone call had been cold and overly formal.

Sakura ground her teeth, looking out the window, her shoulders tensed.

Temari got out of her car in time, her purple high heels gleaming under the sun. With a swift movement of the wrist, she dropped her sunglasses in front of her eyes, her purse in the crook of her elbow. She wore an elegant black suit. Bowing, her driver shut the door after her.

Sakura laughed quietly, nervously, staring down at her summer dress and flip-flops.

The door of the coffee shop opened and the hostess quickly accompanied Temari to the table. Sakura smiled placidly and bowed her head, half-rising from her seat.

"Temari-sama."

Temari briskly dropped her purse on the seat next to hers. She slowly inclined her head, as if greeting her, but her smile bit, her eyes sharp with disdain. She moved unnaturally to sit down.

Sakura kept smiling, lips stiffening, and she reached for her glass of water to occupy herself.

"Do you want to be part of this family?" Temari asked softly, and she laced her fingers together on the table, as she leaned back against the chair.

The gesture reminded Sakura of Director Chiyo. 'Straight for the jugular, then,' Sakura thought. Her face hurt.

"I am part of this family," Sakura said with feigned cheerfulness, and shrugged carelessly.

Her gaze flickered across the tables. The coffee shop was almost empty. It now seemed like a carefully planned scene. She returned her gaze to Temari, sweat gathering on her palms.

"We both know that's not true," Temari smiled, hollow, her lips barely curling, frozen in place.

They stared at each other.

"What do you want from me?" Sakura asked flatly.

Temari sighed and looked away from her. She waved at the waiter, and she hurried to bring her the menu.

"Coffee. Bring me rose water too," Temari ordered, and she glanced briefly at Sakura. "What about you?"

"I'll have the same," Sakura said coldly, and they stared back at each other.

Once the waiter had gone, Temari inclined her head again as if deep in thought.

"Make Gaara change his mind about the company he's bought before he ruins everything he's built."

Sakura didn't flinch, but her insides twisted. She made her feel childish and small. Temari was the sort of women who sat on a director's chair, who claimed her place with the way she held herself.

Sakura's fists curled feebly.

A waitress brought them their coffee, and they both turned their heads toward her, smiling. The waitress bowed and then was gone. Sakura felt Temari's heavy cool stare on her, so similar to Gaara's, as she dripped rose water in her cup.

She sipped from her cup.

Temari didn't move.

She was observing her, her gaze, sharp and calculated, like her smile.

"The company he bought..." Temari said slowly, her voice low. "It's near bankruptcy. Gaara wants to release a new product to save it, but it's still a suicide mission. Persuade him to let it go."

Temari reached for the rose water container.

Sakura's cool smile didn't waver.

"I don't know anything about his business, and I frankly don't want to know."

Temari inclined her head considering it. Her fingers wiggled slowly as she straightened her engagement ring. Carefully, she replaced her cup of coffee in the saucer, the delicate porcelain clicking.

"He truly didn't tell you anything," Temari sighed.

Sakura's smile froze. She knew Temari's words, the inclination of her head, implied she should have. They implied she should be hurt. They implied they were drinking coffee and playing a game Temari was simply better at. Even if she knew it with her head, her heart squeezed.

"No," Sakura replied dully.

"He left..." Temari raised a brow, letting the sentence dangle.

Sakura ground her teeth. She wanted to say nothing, but she also had the urge to defend herself. Defend her marriage. Even ruins were worth defending.

Temari's face was unreadable as she leaned back against her chair, watching her. Sakura was once more reminded of Gaara by the familiar gesture. She could feel herself falter.

"In a car I didn't know he had," Sakura continued in spite of herself.

This was what Gaara wanted her to say.

This was what Temari wanted her to say.

"You're a smart girl, Sakura," Temari said and took another sip from her cup. She waved to Sakura to encourage her to do the same. "Tell me what do you think he's up to?"

Sakura's jaw twitched. She looked down at her mug. She hadn't noticed that her hands were still curled around it. In her mind's eye, she saw Gaara's pale face and his other set of car keys. She wondered if they were two misfits, Gaara and her.

If that was why they avoided, tip toed around each other, expecting games after games, and hiding, and lying.

Maybe, they were both forced into place, dolls that needed to conform.

And they had nothing to fill their house.

"Anything," Sakura replied dully, and her gaze rose back to meet Temari's. "He's angry."

Temari's face sharpened and paled, her smile wavered. There was a flash of worry in her gaze as it drifted across Sakura's naked arms and body.

"I see," Temari said stiffly.

"I don't think you should intervene," Sakura added softly, her heart pounding in her skull.

She didn't understand Temari's reaction. She had anticipated frustration, but not worry.

"Purple," Temari said briskly and waved the waitress forward once more.

"Excuse me?"

Sakura blinked rapidly, faltering as Temari snapped open the menu the waitress handed her.

"We'll have the continental breakfast. Thank you."

Sakura gazed between the waitress and Temari, her mouth open to talk, but the waitress was already gone. She still held up a finger in an attempt to catch her attention before settling once more in her seat.

"My bridesmaids were supposed to wear purple," Temari continued like they had been interrupted, "but this won't do with your complexion and hair colour."

Unabashed, Temari took a sip from her coffee.

Sakura couldn't reply. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"We will remedy that with silver or bronze," Temari stated and reached for her purse to take out a large binder from her purse.

Quickly, she flipped through it. She paused, nodding to herself, and tapped two fabric samples with her index. She held up the binder for Sakura to see.

"Here. What do you think?"

Sakura's gaze shifted from the binder to Temari's cool calm.

"You should have purple at your wedding if this is what you want, Temari-sama."

Temari snorted.

"You're my brother's wife. I won't make you look like cupcake in a dress," she glanced at her watch. "We have an appointment with my tailor in 45 minutes. We should have time to eat, yes?"

Sakura tried to smile, her mind spinning as Temari threw more information at her about her upcoming wedding.

Her sister-in-law was terrifying, Sakura decided when she returned home, exhausted.

"Even Ino would have hated this," she grumbled unlocking the door.

With difficulty, Sakura pushed open the door of her house, boxes of shoes and her dress beating against her legs and arms.

Groaning, and without ceremony, Sakura kicked off her shoes and dropped her bags and boxes on the kitchen table before sinking on the couch. She cursed softly under her breath and pulled out her cellphone from her pocket.

Gaara answered on the first ring.

"Hn?"

"Temari said I should make you drop your new company," Sakura said coldly.

"Oh?" Gaara sounded amused.

Sakura flipped to the side, and slowly sat up. She combed her hair back, her phone digging deeper in her ear.

"I don't like this," she added through gritted teeth when he didn't say anything.

"Hn. Did she pick her dress?"

"She did months ago, apparently," Sakura said sarcastically. "We picked mine. It only took five hours."

"Good."

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. He seemed even more distant now, noncommittal, out-of-reach, and there was still this dread in the pit of her stomach.

'What did I do?' a part of her cowered while another part of her, expended, hot, demanding. Square your shoulders. Straighten your back. Chin up, it urged her.

"I don't like this, Gaara-sama," she repeated, her voice snapping and cutting.

Sakura breathed hard, her fingers clenching her phone more tightly.

"I'll give your anything you want to make up for it," Gaara replied, dismissively, after what seemed like an eternity.

"Stop throwing money at me," Sakura shouted. "I need five hours of my life back! Did you there is a billion of different shades of bronze? I don't need money! I need a time machine and a fucking clone to run errands with your sister!"

She breathed heavily, her fingers massaging her temples.

'What happened? Between yesterday and today, what happened?'

"But, this is what you wanted in the first place, no? Money."

Sakura flinched at his tone. She blinked rapidly, the silence mounting, full of violence, full of echoes. They had never addressed his needs, she realized.

'What do you want?' he had asked at the grocery store, and over and over again. She couldn't bring herself to return the question. She had never felt enough.

"This is what I needed," she said quietly, and her mind split in its centre. 'Isn't this what you wanted to hear?'

"There's a difference," she added, her voice stronger.

"Is there?" Gaara taunted, and there was finally an edge to his voice.

Her lips pursued, Sakura didn't reply. Her heart burst in her chest. The skin of her ear grew hot and uncomfortable from the pressure of her cellphone. And it built and built, in her bones, in her chest, the pressure of them always clashing.

"When are you coming back, Gaara-sama?" Sakura asked blankly.

There was nothing else to ask.

"Stop calling me Gaara-sama," he said almost mocking.

She narrowed her eyes, losing her temper. He sounded like a rebellious child. He sounded vague and demanding.

"Well, I'm already in the middle of a favour. Queue them!" she shouted.

He laughed low, and she bristled.

"Hn. Feisty."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"I'm not returning the compliment," she snapped and hung up.

She stared at her phone in her hand for a moment before tossing it on the couch. She dropped on the couch, lying back against the cushions. She kicked at them, squirming to find a comfortable position. The back of her eyes stung.

"What a jerk," she muttered half-heartedly.

Sakura ground her teeth.

She always carried him, now, with the empty house, her loneliness, the phone calls alternating between Temari and Director Chiyo.

She wanted to leave him behind like she did Konoha.

Before she cared enough to lose sight of herself again.

Sakura left him behind in her mind. She left him slip away, receding from her skin, by stepping outside, under the scorching setting sun. Farther and farther, he slipped away, and she stood in a garden she called hers. Later, she stood in the kitchen she called hers. Later, in the bedroom, she had claimed for herself.

She buried him, before he could bury her.

This was what she needed.

A burial.

Later in the evening, Sakura glared the note he had left her on the patio table under a rock.

He always managed to surprise her. Good or bad.

Sakura freed the piece of paper from under the rock to read it. He had detailed instructions for the plant she had bought, going as far as marking the ideal place it should be by the hedge.

"And now he's back to being a jerk," Sakura groaned and carried the instructions with her to the back of the hedge where her plant waited for her.

She squatted down, her arms easily folding around her knees. She pressed her cheek to her arm, inclining her head to examine her plant. Her sheet of instructions wrinkled and snapped in the wind.

The garden was peaceful, leaves and petals softly rustling.

"If he activates the sprinkler now," Sakura said gleefully, her fake smile stretching across her face. She felt so sad. "I'm going to crazy-murder him." She touched the pot. "Then, plant you on top of his body."

Her phone buzzed.

Sakura sighed and moved her head from side-to-side to stretch her neck.

"Here we go again," she mumbled before accepting the call.

"Chiyo-sama, how are you?"

"Enough chitchat! Where are you?" Chiyo barked then cackled.

"I'm home," Sakura said, deadpan.

"Why are you still this formal to me? Call me obaasan!"

"I-"

"Never mind that!" Chiyo interrupted. "Get to my office tomorrow morning at 9. Bring that dress you picked with Temari."

Sakura involuntarily glanced back at the house and stood up. The sliding doors were half-hidden behind the pear trees lined in front of her. The pale walls of the house were dotted by shadows of leaves.

"How did you know... obaasan?" she asked nervously

"I know everything," Director Chiyo stated, and Sakura flinched at her tone. The laughter was gone from her voice now. "Don't be late!"

Then, she hung up.

"This is how I know they're all from the same family," she said to herself and put her phone back in her pocket.

She squatted back down.

She started digging to plant her plant. 'My plant,' she kept thinking, ferociously.

The next morning, Sakura sat at her usual seat in the director's office, the dress next to her wrapped in plastic protective bag.

"You took the bus again," Director Chiyo grumbled and wiggled her fingers distractedly.

Sakura lowered her tea cup back on the saucer and unzipped the protective bag to reveal her dress.

"It's just more time efficient," Sakura said sheepishly.

"Journalists having a field day is not time efficient for me!" Chiyo said curtly and nodded at Nozomi. "Bring it over here. I'm old enough to have poor eyesight and have all the excuses in the world."

Nozomi bowed and took the dress from Sakura to bring it to Chiyo. Sakura pressed her lips together, her eyes on her knees, as she waited for the director to inspect the dress.

"I'm surprised she picked this reddish bronze," Chiyo said and her smile was slow, sad.

"She said she didn't want me to look like a cupcake," Sakura replied awkwardly.

She risked a glance at the director. Her face was paler than usual, almost translucent, crisscrossed with thin blue veins visible. It stood out, darkened, in the contrast of the lit windows. There was an absence in her eyes sunken. The director nodded slowly to herself, touching the dress. Her fingers moved slowly, across the skirts of the dress.

"Ever wore a traditional dress?"

Sakura shook her head and felt the grip of her uneasiness, painful and sudden.

There was something that nagged at the back of her mind. The blue vein spreading like spiderwebs across her wrists. The billowing: 'Do I look dead?' Sakura straightened her back slowly. She felt the motion as if her spine was snapping back into place. And everything clicked. She openly stared at Director Chiyo.

"Chiyo-sama..." she started and fumbled with words, with emotions rising, turbulent.

Chiyo's head turned back toward her, her expression stopping Sakura mid-sentence. She clamped her mouth shut.

They stared at each other.

Sakura clenched her fists over her knees.

Chiyo didn't avert her gaze.

"We aren't discussing it," Chiyo said roughly, her chest shaking with lukewarm laughter, and she turned her face toward the window. Her smile was the colour of ashes.

"Not until Temari gets married."

Sakura felt herself stiffened, her heart thumping wildly in her ears.

Chiyo waved the dress away and Nozomi calmly replace it in the protective bag before setting it back next to Sakura. She bowed low and turned on her heels to exit the room.

"It would put you in an awkward position too, wouldn't it?" Chiyo added. "You said you didn't want to be used."

'But you do put me in that position!' Sakura yelled inwardly, desperately. His entire family was.

"I don't, but..."

Holding up her hand, Chiyo stopped Sakura.

"Then, start telling me about those scans, Sakura. Do that for an old woman," she smiled, with a quiet ferocity that reminded Sakura of Gaara.

Sakura picked up the pile of MRI scans and medical files from in front of her. Slowly, she leafed through them, seeing no tumours, no internal bleeding, no brain damage.

"Sakura," Chiyo said crisply and clicked her tongue.

The world gradually came into focus again.

Sakura cleared her throat.

She moved to the edge of her seat and smoothed and straightened the pile of paperwork in front of her. 'Could she do this?' she had once asked herself in this same seat. Could she be ruthless?

"Let me tell him and the others," Chiyo said sternly. "You don't need to burden yourself. You'll crease up soon enough... Look at me. I was once beautiful."

Sakura felt herself nod from a distance.

"Temari-sama's wedding is 10 days away," she whispered.

"And she'll smile on her wedding day," Director Chiyo replied stubbornly, her gaze ablaze met Sakura's.

"I understand," Sakura relented.

Yes, she would be ruthless.

She started reading.

Chiyo relaxed in her seat.

The phone rang at 2:36 AM.

Sakura dreamt of an endless shrill alarm, bells and whistles going off in the distance. Chaos.

She dreamt of sirens. She dreamt of swinging doors and mechanical, droning instructions.

She dreamt of death.

The phone kept ringing.

"What?" Sakura grumbled, half-awake, and she blinked in the darkness. Her head fell back on her pillow.

Sirens, she kept thinking, sinking back asleep.

The phone slid off her night table and crashed on the floor.

Sakura sat up, startled. She held the bed sheets to her chest, disoriented and hot.

The soft light of the screen drew her gaze to the phone. Sakura tossed her bed sheets and blankets and pillows away from her, swearing under her breath in her native language. She bent over the bed, her fingers, weak and too warm, rummaging across the floor for her phone.

She narrowed her eyes at the caller ID.

"OI!" Sakura shouted in the phone. "Do you have any idea how late it is? Are you at the hospital or something?" She pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead.

Sakura dropped back on her back, her skin moist, her breath too loud in her ears.

"Gaara-sama!" she said and sat up again, agitated.

Sakura fumbled with the bedside lamp and turned it on.

"Hellooo," Gaara slurred.

Sakura froze. 'He can't be serious,' she thought and clenched her jaw.

"What's wrong with your voice?" she asked as calmly as she could muster.

"Hn. What are you wearing?"

"What?" Sakura snapped.

He laughed, low and disjointed, as if he was juggling his phone in his hand. She heard a soft curse and something metallic dropped on the floor.

"Are you drunk?" Sakura asked, incredulous.

"No," Gaara drawled and his answer wavered again. "I was entertaining and now, I'm done. What are you doing?"

Sakura gritted her teeth, frustration building, beating at her temples.

"I was sleeping before you woke me up."

"Hn. What are you wearing?"

"Stop that, Gaara!"

"You called me Gaara," he said huskily, and Sakura could hear the smirk in his voice. "Why didn't you call today?"

'Because your grandmother is sick.'

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. She hadn't put her cellphone in silent mode.

'Because I hoped you would call for once.'

"You're coming home, right now," Sakura said stiffly and put her feet on floor.

"No, I'm at a hotel," Gaara said childishly.

"Take a fucking cab and come home," Sakura shouted and stood up. She started pacing in the room and gesturing angrily. "I don't like playing catch ball with your family. Do you hear me?"

"Did the snake come home?" Gaara asked with a briskly sober voice.

"What?" Sakura asked exasperated. "Just come home. I'm your wife, not your personal assistant managing your family." She swallowed hard. "I want you home. Now."

There was a pause that stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Her shoulders sank. She hated how she sounded needy.

'I want you home.'

She wanted too many things. It had been easier when she knew she had nothing. Now, she was used to his presence, rounding on her like a clockwork. And she couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he didn't want to come home.

"You may not have realized because I'm good at hiding it… but I'm drunk," Gaara whispered, and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. And she hated, hated that it wasn't. She closed her eyes.

"Very drunk," he rambled on. "So drunk. I can't drive home."

"Oh really?" Sakura said sarcastically to hide the hurt from her voice. "I can smell alcohol from this side of the phone."

"Liar," Gaara rasped.

Sakura sighed and started to sift through basked of clean clothes she hadn't folded yet. Holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder, she removed her pyjama bottoms and kicked them off. Quickly, she put on her yoga pants, feeling self-conscious even if he couldn't see her.

"Where are you?" Sakura asked. "I'm coming to get you."

"I'll tell you on one condition."

"Gaara!" she cried out, throwing her head back.

She breathed deeply through her nose. 'I'm so tired of this,' she thought, then she forced herself to move again. She switched to speaker mode and dropped her phone on the bed to pull on a sweatshirt over her pyjama top.

"Just one condition," Gaara whispered, and it travelled down her spine.

"What?" she said with difficultly and sat on the bed to put on her socks.

"Tell me what you're wearing."

Sakura froze. She turned her head toward the phone, her cheeks hot. He laughed quietly, and she shook her head. She rolled her eyes even if her mouth was dry and she was burning up.

"Absolutely nothing," she said sarcastically. "Now where are you?"

"Hn. Cheeky. Hotel next to the airport."

"Where are the car keys?"

"With me. I needed them."

Sakura gathered her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed her phone off the bed and hurried out of the door. She pressed it back against her ear.

"The ones for the car that's still here," she said impatiently and jogged down the stairs.

"Where I usually put them," Gaara said simply.

"Where?"

She gritted her teeth, spinning on herself, and switched on the lights. Quickly, she scanned the kitchen counter and the coffee table in the living room.

"You don't pay attention like I do," Gaara grumbled weakly.

Sakura groaned and searched across the kitchen island for the keys. She then walked to the small table before the entrance. The keys were hanging there amid other keys labelled with his siblings' names and colour-coded. Her eyebrow twitched.

"I pay very close attention to you," Gaara continued.

'Of course, he colour-coded his keys,' she thought and grabbed his keys.

"Like I notice you don't wear a bra with your pink pyjamas."

Sakura almost dropped her phone. Her gaze dropping to her chest. Her face flushed.

She hadn't put a bra on.

"Text me the address," Sakura said quickly, her saliva thick, and hung up abruptly.

She ran back upstairs.

Her eyes on Gaara, Sakura took the 2L water bottle out of her purse. She had never seen him asleep, she realized. He still wore his suit, and he was lying on his stomach on top of the covers, his face disappearing under a pillow. Still watching him, Sakura unscrewed the cap of the bottle, took a sip.

She stepped closer to the bed.

He didn't stir.

"Will that be all, o-san?" the housekeeper asked meekly from behind her.

Sakura felt herself nod.

"Yes, thank you."

The housekeeper glanced curiously between them and bowed. She closed the door behind her.

Gaara still didn't stir, his curled fists around the pillow supporting his head.

Sakura took another sip from her water bottle. She sighed. Then, she rotated her wrist and let the water splash on his head.

He startled awake, sitting up.

With wild eyes, Gaara looked around him, his mouth stretched open. He didn't make a sound. His chest heaved and heaved. His gaze focused on her. He exhaled. He groaned. He rubbed at his face.

"Hello, honey."

Sakura smiled sweetly and shook the half-empty bottle in her hand.

I bet you can all feel the drama llama about to hit, so to alleviate concerns: Next chapter, they'll be stuck in a plane together, so plenty of together time ahead. Huehuehe!

Stay safe, guys!