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gaasaku-fanfests · 5 years

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Misfits (part 3 & 4)

Title: Misfits Author: clem-chan Rating: T Word Count: 27 388 Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura imagined for herself. The arrangement that started as constant bickering soon becomes so much more... If only her husband was hers to fall in love with. GaaSaku. Modern!AU Warnings: There is a light make-out session hence the T rating. There's also mention of child abuse and childhood trauma. Minor ships: light KankuKiba, very light ShikaTema, mention of NejiTen.

Author's Note(s): Two little things to mention: First, I wanted to keep this accessible to all, so I have cut out more raunchy scenes which will be posted in the AO3 version of this fic soon. Second, I have this headcannon where Gaara and Sakura are just two misfits. :P So, that's what this story is about: two misfits forced together. XD Hope you enjoy it! ^_^

Trope: Arranged Marriage

. [warnings are for overall fanfic, not individual parts.]

PART 3

Her apartment door was ajar.

Sakura stumbled in the hallway, her heart beating at the back of her throat. She gripped her keys in a fist, her body terse. With her foot, she nudged open the door.

She almost dropped her keys.

The apartment was entirely empty, her steps' echo following her, deafening. She barged into each room, her heart sinking, her body bending down. Each room was a punch that knocked the air, the lief out of her.

Everything was gone.

She touched the walls repainted in white, all traces of her erased, ready for the next occupant.

"What's going on?" Sakura asked to herself.

"Oh, Sakura-san!" the handy man's voice boomed from behind her, and she spun on her heels, startled. "Why are you back? Did you forget something?"

"Back?" Sakura asked thickly, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, the movers already dropped by. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Congratulations on your wedding!"

Stunned, Sakura felt herself nod at the jolly man. She played with the unfamiliar ring. It was him. Her husband had done this. Hot poignant anger flared inside her.

"Yes, I'm married now," she repeated slowly and she wished she could rip off her wedding ring and hurl it away.

She wished she wasn't married, moved like a doll to another house.

"So, did you forget something? Can I help?" The handyman asked eagerly

"No," she smiled, her face aching, her heart wrenched out of her. Did she even belong to herself anymore? "I just wanted to look at the place one last time," she added lamely.

Married people lived together. She should have known, but they had organized the visit to the notary around Gaara and her schedule. They had barely talked about the future.

"Of course," he glanced around. "Good evening, and congratulations again!"

They bowed, and he disappeared in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

With shaking fingers, she called Gaara.

"Sabaku Gaara," he answered with a bored voice, the sound of paper rustling in the background.

"What's my address?" she whispered.

If she yelled, she would shatter. She would cry. She was hanging by a thread. His doll. Her wedding, her shift at the hospital had drained her.

"Who's this?"

"Your wife," she snapped. "Don't you have my number saved up?"

"Hn. I'll text it to you."

Gaara hung up without another word, and she lowered her phone from her ear in disbelief.

She cracked.

She burst into tears, dry-heaving, her hands moving across her body to hold up the pieces of her. She leaked and leaked, slipping through her fingers, through her defence. She couldn't square her shoulders, straighten her back or chin-up.

Her hand shook over her mouth, her other arm digging into her side. They moved to the back her neck, they wiped the tears that wouldn't stop.

She examined her body the way she would for patients at the hospital.

'Where does it hurt?' she would ask.

'Everywhere,' patients would infallibly answer.

-X-

Her new house didn't feel like home.

It was hidden behind austere high gates and higher dense hedges. Its architecture was modern, sharp simple lines, sun tinted windows revealing nothing of its interior.

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulders at the calm private neighbourhood. She felt out-of-place with her scrub stuffed in her messenger back, her disheveled hair, and her puffing reddened eyes. Shakily, while holding her phone, she punched the code he had given her.

The gate buzzed and opened for her.

She breathed in sharply. Squared shoulders, straight back, and chin up, she recited dully to herself.

At the front door, she pressed another combination of numbers, and it unlocked with a grave tone.

A set of slippers waited for her by the door, next to his. New. Nothing like the old ones she had back at her apartment.

With wobbly knees, she removed her shoes. She hesitated, spinning on herself. She opened a grey unit. His work shoes were lined up, their leather shining. There were a few sportswear. She gulped, at the bottom, there were her the two pairs she owned: flats she wore when she went out, and more comfortable shoes for everyday wear.

Sakura gently placed her shoes there.

She knew this was expected of her. He had left just enough room for her, splitting his home, so she would fit perfectly into her place.

She shook her head, pushing back at the thoughts swirling inside her. Wasn't he swallowing her whole, like his family?

She didn't pick her slippers. He threw away hers.

She didn't pick her home. He emptied hers, repainted it. A shift at the hospital later, and she was a new woman with a new beginning.

She untied her hair, shaking it loose, massaging her scalp.

There was no turning back.

She stepped into her house.

She dropped her messenger bag to the floor.

The light softly illuminated the pale furniture in a wide open space. The kitchen's domestic appliances gleamed sharply, metallic, while the rest was rough naked wood. She ran her hands across a bookcase, her books mixed with his in alphabetical order.

She explored the kitchen, the dining room and the living room, her hands hesitating before reaching forward and touching her things among his.

He had pinned his schedule on the fridge, and fanned out documents for her on the counter, a post-it on each pile detailing procedures and listing phone numbers. Forms to change her address. Forms to apply for citizenship. A business card for a designer. An appointment at the bank.

And a check. The only thing she cared about.

Her fingers hovered above the check he had made to her school.

She tore herself from the black granite counter, looking around her. A gilded cage.

The house was impersonal; there were no accent or decoration, no picture frame, no warmth to the house. The furniture was to its bare minimum.

Sakura climbed up the stairs.

The master's bedroom was painted in light grey and white like the rest of the house.

She found her way on the balcony, then in the walk-in closet.

Her side was almost empty, her few things fitting into only a fraction of the space. She imagined filling it, shopping, careless about money for once. Her stomach twisted. Again, it felt like this was expected of her; fill the space and mirror his side full of designer clothes in various shades.

Her eyes drifted across the bed, her head pounding with her quickening heartbeat.

The finality of her wedding damned on her: they would share a bed. They would build a family together. Until death do them part.

But wasn't this a dream come true?

A beautiful home, her tuition already paid off, her future secured. Shouldn't she be grateful?

The news outlet had already marked her fate as a fairytale: From nothing to the wife of Gaara Sabaku, one of the richest man in the Land of the Wind. A Modern Cinderella tale, some have called their wedding during the TV news. Wasn't it this a tale of hope? Shouldn't they all be envious?

Sakura turned right on the hallway nothing the two bathrooms, before pushing open the door to his study. Unlike the rest of the house, his study was shrouded in shadows, painted in dark red, the desk old, pile of paper perfectly arranged.

She had her own study, and she saw it more clearly now, how he had selected some of her things, and disregarded the rest. She balled her fists, her anger, her sadness battling inside her. Her desk was brand-new, her old beat-up second-hand furniture gone. He had picked a desk of cherry wood.

A part of her flinched, craving this sense of belonging.

The other part of her demanded violent retaliation.

She was grateful.

She was going to kill him.

-X-

"Where's my stuff?" Sakura asked icily at him when Gaara stepped into the kitchen.

Her hair still damp from her shower dripped down her neck, as she bent over her textbook. Impatiently, she tapped on the book, sensing him approach her.

"You have a study. Why are you working in the kitchen?" Gaara asked, ignoring her.

He took a water bottle out of the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter watching her with curiosity, his bow tie untied around his neck. He took a sip.

"Where's my stuff," she repeated through clenched teeth, and roughly highlight a chunk of a sentence about the importance of eye movement examination during neurological assessment. "My study isn't my study. It's a page in some stupid catalogue."

"You're welcome."

Sakura pushed back the chair from the kitchen island and it grated against the floor. She glared at him.

"Are you unintentionally dense, or just very rude?"

Gaara raised an eyebrow in surprise at her, his mouth pressed to the bottle, but he didn't drink. He lowered back his arm, his head cocked to the side as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Your 'stuff' as you call it was falling apart," Gaara said quietly, and a shadow she couldn't understand lurked in his pale eyes. "I got you better things."

'Your image is unflattering to us,' Temari's voice filled her head alongside his. Was this the price of belonging, she wondered taking a step back from him, her insides gripped into a frozen, unbreakable fist.

She would be reinvented to fit in someone else's story, was that her future? Was that how ruthless women lived?

Sakura looked around her, at the pristine kitchen, the dining room opening on the living room, beige, fitting with each other.

A fairytale, Sakura had thought before considering her house. Now, she knew, she wasn't Cinderella. Cinderella had loved her prince, she hadn't taken her vows to escape her circumstances. No, she was the last of a Russian doll set. And they would make her fit inside, swallowed, adjusted to their world.

She balled her fists.

"I didn't ask for upgrades," Sakura said through clenched teeth.

Gaara shrugged, noncommittal, and put back the water bottle in the refrigerator.

"They are just things," he said as he brushed by her.

Gaara settled his bow tie on the couch and unbuttoned his collar.

"It's our house, honey," Sakura sneered after him now on her feet, and he looked back at her with an eyebrow raised. "Our. As in your stuff and mine."

"Hn. Fine, buy whatever pleases you," Gaara took out his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and took out his credit card.

He handed it to her.

Sakura looked at the card, feeling dismissed, small, belonging in the cracks of his life. He sighed and pressed it to her hands when she didn't react.

"Are we done here?" Gaara pointed at the credit card she was still holding, and the back of her throat hurt from the tears she refused to let fall. "I need to go back to the office."

She followed him mechanically. He looked up at her as he was putting on his shoes, frowning.

"Just use the no contact pay option," he added slowly, as she didn't move.

"Do we really need to share the bedroom?" she asked as he stood up again, and reached for the door.

Her face crumpled, but his eyes were on his watch, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm an insomniac. I rarely sleep. I won't disturb you."

"Fine."

"So, we're-"

"Yes, yes, we're done," Sakura snapped.

She spun on her heels, his card still in her grip. What had she expected? She chastised herself. She threw the card on the counter, tears of frustration brimming her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth. It hurt. The back of her throat. The back of her eyes.

The thought of his disdainful eyes flickering across her face.

Temari had been right. She had been picked for their image. Her story would only be a fairytale in appearance.

'What have I done?'

-X-

Late at night, Gaara paced in the living room, the acidic way she had called him 'honey' haunting him.

She wasn't happy.

He had thought it would be easy, companionship in exchange for his fortune and social status. But she was dissatisfied. She didn't use his credit card. She had sulked and glared at him when he returned home. She had snapped good night before making her way upstairs, her steps heavy and angry, booming, then slammed the door of their bedroom.

In the business world, in his world, humans were simple. They were needy. They didn't love things; they simply needed, craved things they didn't have. Things their neighbours had. Things perfect strangers had flaunted on the internet. There was always a need to fill with this or that product. Otherwise, money fixed everything.

Why hadn't it fixed them?

Gaara paced more quickly, his hands deep in his pockets.

He couldn't understand what she wanted from him.

Gaara abruptly turned toward the couch and reached for his cellphone. He quickly dialled Kankuro's number.

"Wut?" Kankuro said groggily into the phone.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly, and he glanced at the staircase plunged in darkness.

He heard Kankuro growl and shift into a sitting position. Kankuro muttered something to Kiba. Then, a door closed.

"Remember when you were a small annoying kid, and I would tell you I can exchange you for a decent little bro at the nearest supermarket whenever I want?" Kankuro hissed into the phone.

Gaara opened his mouth, and glanced at his watch. 3:40 am.

"It's late."

"Yeah," his brother growled. "But what the hell do you mean I didn't choose right?"

"She's upset about the things you picked out."

"She insulted my taste?" Kankuro sucked in a breath, and laughed with an irony that escaped Gaara. "Tell her I can exchange her at the nearest supermarket."

"No," Gaara frowned. "She just seems to think her old stuff was better."

"Oh fuck, she had stuff? And you threw it away?"

"I just said that, yes," Gaara replied coldly.

"I can't explain this to you right now."

"I can call you back between meetings... At 10h15?"

"Gaara..."

"Don't say my name like that."

'Like I'm not human,' Gaara added silently. He clenched his jaw. He tried. He tried working around his work, and understand her. He checked up on her, but she unsettled him when she asked him about her things.

Temari had Shikamaru.

Kankuro had Kiba.

He had simply wanted to feel needed too.

Gaara closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the tattoo on his forehead. Why wasn't love simple?

"Just apologize, and get her stuff back. And next time, for Pete's sakes, don't just tell me: 'she needs new stuff.' Share the whole story, like that she already has stuff. Hold on." Gaara waited as his brother's muffled voice said something and Kiba answered him. "Kiba wants to have supper with you two. Pick a day. Now, I'm going back to sleep before my boyfriend exchanges me. Night, little bro."

He hung up.

Gaara didn't sleep, he thought of her gleaming green flashing with anger, a different woman from the one who had meekly bowed to him at the coffeeshop.

Were people really like that, Gaara wondered, full of contradictions and conflicting emotions?

He lied down on the couch, a book open on his chest. He rubbed at his temples, entrapped in the difference sides of her.

His mind drifted, roamed, but he didn't sleep.

-X-

Sakura turned restlessly in the bed. It smells inhabited, of floral detergent, the dark grey bed sheets still crisp and unused.

She sat up huffing, muttering to herself: "What a jerk!" Turning her head toward the door, she bit her lip. Instinctively, she held up the bed sheets to her chest. She wore a simple pyjamas, but somehow she felt exposed. In a stranger's home. In a stranger's bed.

'What if he came up?' she thought and shuddered.

She turned her head toward the rest of the room, wondering if she should put one of the chairs from the walk-in closet against the knob.

Shaking her head, Sakura fumbled with the sheets and got off the bed. Skin flushed, she advanced slowly toward the door, listening intensely. She could hear him moving downstairs.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly.

Sakura froze, her hand on the knob. She couldn't listen in. She shouldn't. Curiosity gripped her. Slowly, silently, she turned the knob. She blushed.

With the door ajar, his voice reached her more easily, despite it being low and grave.

"No, she just seems to think her old stuff was better."

Sakura faltered, her eyes shifting involuntarily to her wedding ring. He sounded like a child. Then, an insidious thought whispered at her; what if he was talking to the woman in the picture?

She closed the door, her face stiffening with conflicting emotions, her heart heavy, sinking quickly in her chest.

She climbed back into bed.

His.

His bed.

She was his, but her husband belonged to another woman.

***

PART 4

The next morning, Sakura ate her breakfast in silence, her lips pursued, barely chewing the steamy rice pudding.

Gaara had served her in silence, his green eyes searching hers. Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing clearly her puffy eyes, her pale face, and how everything about him ravaged her. Ever since she had his ring, he had torn pieces of her, a roaming scavenger that mercilessly picked at the bones.

"Do you have class or are you at the hospital today?" Gaara asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her.

The back of her neck prickled. She was certain he wasn't used to waiting.

She munched slowly, and his eyebrow twitched.

"Hospital," Sakura answered icily.

"Hn."

Gaara glanced out of the window, his muscled forearms jerking, still crossed over him.

"What time do you finish?"

Annoyed, Sakura glared up at him, but his face was expressionless, unfocused, still turned toward the bay windows. She pinched her lips and bent over her bowl again.

"I don't know, maybe around 7," she shrugged.

"What about tomorrow?"

"What's this about?" Sakura grumbled.

"My brother and his partner," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the garden. "They want to have supper with us."

Sakura pushed her bowl away from her, and reached for her napkin. She wiped her mouth, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"Wednesday is fine."

Sakura stood up.

"Thanks for making breakfast," she said flatly.

His head turned back toward her, his pale eyes following her as she left the kitchen.

"Put the bowl away," he growled.

"I'm going to be late, but sure, you should clean up," Sakura shrugged. "It's your stuff afterward."

Gaara stood up too, swiftly, and she walked faster toward the entrance. Maybe she went too far? He followed her, a glowering presence. She bent down to put on her shoes, avoiding the sharp edges of his face.

Gaara leaned over the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, solid, his eyes on his watch.

"What about my sister and her partner?"

Sakura grimaced, occupying her hands with her messenger back.

"Saturday... Maybe brunch?" Sakura shrugged.

'Or never,' she added silently.

"Good," Gaara answered and he turned away from her.

He reached in his pocket for his phone.

Silently, she panted looking at the space he had occupied, her insides twisted, sore. What had she expect?

She heard the sound of clicking dishes as he cleaned up the kitchen table.

"Bye, honey!" Sakura shouted, and she slammed the door after her.

-X-

His office was crowded, the directors sitting around the coffee table in front of Gaara's desk in a tight rectangle of bobbing heads. Their assistants took hurried notes behind them, shifting their weight from one feet to the other, to keep awake, to keep from their legs going numb.

Gaara detached his chin from his laced fingers, glancing down at his watch.

Soon, he would be able to dismiss them. In fifteen minutes, he would go down to the twelfth floor and meet with the executives from the main factory.

Gaara glanced down at the leather file folder in front of him.

"If we get a new product-"

"Gaara-sama," one of the director said and coughed. An intentional disturbance. The other directors turned their stares to him, fingers pushing back the business plan. An orchestrated plan.

Gaara looked up at them. They squirmed under his stare. He hated when they changed the order of the meeting, shifting his schedule around like it belonged to them.

The director coughed again, his hand in a shaky fist pressed against his mouth.

"Maybe, you should bring your wife to the next fundraiser. Investors from the Fire country will be there. It'll be good for future relations... She was born there, yes?"

"Hn. Can we talk about the new product now?" Gaara said icily.

He lowered his hands to the table, tapping the rhythm of time with one index. 13 more minutes, and he would get up.

"You should dismantle the new company you acquired," Director Orochimaru hissed. "It's a deadweight."

Gaara felt a familiar anger boiled and lashed out inside him. He straightened his back, leaning back on his leather chair. The directors pressed their lips together, a joined front.

"My wife won't come to the fundraiser if you keep pretending we can't save this company."

"Gaara-sama!" one of the directors exclaimed, and the others blinked rapidly staring at each other, nudging at each other.

"She'll be too busy with being newly poor," Gaara said flatly, and he knocked on the table sharply. "Are we going to talk about this deal now?"

"There're times you do business like your father, Gaara-sama," Director Orochimaru said with a smirk, and an elongated feminine hand pushed back his lustrous hair.

A ferocious amusement glinted in his narrowed eyes.

He was a snake.

Gaara knew Director Orochimaru coveted his seat. He was patient. He was deceitful. He had briefly occupied the CEO's chair after Gaara's father had died. He had let the siblings play in his office, musing out loud about their father's disgrace until none of them could smile.

They glared at each other.

They would always fight for the chair, the title, and the power that would make one and defeat the other.

"There are times I wish I was my father," Gaara said coldly, "so I could throw you out of my office."

"The fundraiser is in two weeks," the other director squeaked, his hand on his tie.

Elegantly, Director Orochimaru shrugged, still smiling.

"A new product may save the company if we have deals to sell it in big department stores. Arrange it," Gaara snapped the leather file folder shut, and stood up.

Reluctantly, the other directors stood up too, buttoning back their suit jacket with stiff hands, and displeased frown. They shook their heads, avoiding looking at each other. They would plot, Gaara knew. Director Orochimaru was still sitting, his assistant fervently staring at him.

"It may also not work," Director Orochimaru said softly.

"It's a long way down my office," Gaara said dully, and he pointed at the exit. "That way is slower, but safer."

"Gaara-sama..." The directors bowed their heads, and exited the room.

Gradually, Director Orochimaru got to his feet. His assistant hurried to give him his cane, his arm draped over his shoulder protectively. He barely seemed to notice, stepping toward Gaara.

"It'd be a long way down your office for you too, Gaara-sama," he sing-sang as he brushed by him. "Enjoy married life."

Gaara pressed the button of the intercom. He loosened his tie around his neck, still glaring at the door.

"Matsuri, get the movers I ordered yesterday on the line," Gaara said at the intercom.

"Yes, Gaara-sama. A moment, please, I'm connecting you."

The line rang sharply before a feminine voice answered. Gaara quietly enquired about what happened to things he had chosen to disregard. He listened to her answer, massaging his forehead. Lines creased it, his insides twisted.

Sakura whispered 'honey' in his ear.

She yelled it.

He frowned, disturbed by her intrusion in his thoughts.

He cleared his throat. He cleared his head.

"So, the things are completely gone?"

"Yes, sir. That's our policy!" The woman answered cheerfully.

"Hn. Goodbye."

Gaara hung up. He readjusted his suit jacket, turning his cufflinks back in place, perfectly symmetrical.

He opened the door of his office. Matsuri, his executive assistant, jumped to her feet, her mouth agape, her phone flipped faced down on the desk. She bowed stiffly, her face red.

"Move the executive meeting to this afternoon."

Matsuri stared after him in panic.

She dropped back on her seat once he was gone. Shakily, she reached for the phone.

Her boss never changed his schedule.

-X-

Gaara only remembered she had a hot pink broken stapler that weighed a ton.

He scowled at the stationary section for a minute before a clerk approached him smiling politely. He bowed formally.

"How can I help you, o-san?"

"I need a pink stapler with ridiculous ornaments and stars."

Caught by surprise, the clerk gaped, then walked stiffly toward an alley. He seemed to be fighting a smile.

"Is this what you're looking for, o-san?"

Gaara's eyebrow twitched at the sight of the stapler. It seemed brighter somehow. He nodded stiffly, and the clerk took a box for him. He led him to the checkout area.

"Is it a gift, o-san?"

"I don't know if she'd want it wrapped... Hn. Wrap it without the ribbons. Just a box, is that possible?"

The clerk bowed his head and pinched his lips in a disapproving look Gaara immediately recognized.

"Or one or two ribbons. Pink," Gaara growled and glared at the clerk.

"Would that also be all?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at the clerk. There it was again; a disapproving look, lips curled up in an icy polite smile. Gaara dropped his wallet on the counter, swearing inwardly. Jewellery. In movies, dutiful husbands always bought jewellery.

"Do you also sell watches?" Gaara asked.

"Yes, sir. This way..." His smile easing, the clerk bowed.

He placed the wrapped gift under the counter and put on some gloves as he led him to another section of the store.

With disinterest, Gaara gazed at the watches on display.

"Hn. Find me something with numbers and without much... accessories." He tapped his finger on the glass, his eyes narrowed to slit at a golden watch with fake diamonds surrounding its frame. "Nothing like that."

Gaara turned away from him and got his phone out of his pocket.

"Tell Baki I'll be late," Gaara said to his secretary when she answered at the first ring. "About five minutes. I need to run by the hospital."

"Oh, is everything alright, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri stammered.

"Yes."

He hung up and approached the counter again. The clerk had picked five watches, all silver and simple.

Gaara pinched his lips. He didn't know which one to pick. Uncomfortable in his silence, the clerk pointed at one.

"It looks like your watch o-san."

"And?" Gaara asked dully.

"Well, if it's a gift to a special someone..." the clerk smiled at him encouragingly.

Gaara raised an eyebrow inspecting the watch. It was lighter, and smaller than his, but the bracelets were formed the same way.

"Do married people do that? Match their watch?" Gaara asked, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the absurdity of it, but his voice was soft, curious.

The clerk bowed.

"I'm sure your wife would be touched."

"Hn. Wrap it up like the stapler."

The clerk bowed and reached for a gift box under the counter.

"What about a gift bag, o-san?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at his watch.

-X-

Gaara drove to the hospital, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. He resisted the urge to call Kankuro. Didn't he do marry because it was time to stop relying on his siblings? He moved his neck back, uncomfortable, trying to relieve the tension he felt building there.

Husbands bought things to apologize, Gaara knew from movies and books. Even when they didn't understand what they were apologizing for. Husbands' cluelessness was a recurring theme in most media.

It would be fine, he muttered to himself.

The truth was she terrified him like all strangers did. They needed all the little things he could never give them, and they were always insistent. And he couldn't sleep.

He glanced sideways at the gift bag, almost nauseous. He wanted to stir the wheel and drive back to his office. Then, Kankuro had said to get her stuff back, and his older brother was never wrong.

On the highway, the cars queued more intensely behind in, marking the beginning of rush hour.

He took the next exit, his lips set in the beginning of a snarl.

Why wasn't it easy like he had hoped?

Gaara parked the car in the administrative section using one of his grandmother's vignette. He got out of the car and bent down to retrieve the bag from the under the passenger's seat. He scowled. Why did he let the the clerk convince him he needed a gift bag? It looked ridiculous.

He slammed the door shut.

His back rigid, Gaara walked up to the hospital ground.

The hospital swarmed with hurrying personnel, yawning ones, and they buzzed; blurred bodies, extremely still bodies, and bloodied bodies.

The crowd anonymized him.

Gaara headed toward the cafeteria, expecting her to eat lunch there. Calmly, his gaze shifted across the tables knowing the interns wore a white scrub. He froze. Her hair was tied back, and she was talking animatedly with a group of interns. She laughed and spoke loudly. He knew her meek. He knew her sullen and angry.

Gaara cocked his head to the side watching her.

Her gaze briefly met his. Her pink mouth was agape, her flow of speech interrupted. She stood up shakily, staring at him with widened eyes.

Her knee bumped against the able and her food tray jolted upward.

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura startled.

His eyes stopped on her left hand, and hers went to the gift bag he was holding. The other interns watched them with curiosity, chewing silently. Sakura opened her mouth, looked at her friends, then approached him shyly. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks turning pink.

"Are you here to see obaasan?"

"Yes," Gaara answered. "Bye now."

He whirled around, and exited the cafeteria. He was no longer anonymous, hushed whispers now accompanied every step he took: "Wasn't that Chiyo-sama's grandson?".

"Gaara-sama!" she ran after him.

He pressed the button of the elevator again, glancing at his watch without seeing the numbers. He kept seeing her empty left ring. And her laughter. And the way she had called him 'honey' once. He pressed the button of the elevator harder.

Anger swelled up inside him, and it was untameable as always.

He glanced at his watch, his heart, an explosion in his ears.

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura repeated louder and touched his arm. Gaara whipped his arm from her. She pretended she didn't notice the way he flinched away from her. "You're pale. Are you alright?"

"Hn."

Sakura shifted in front of the elevator, then she stepped in the elevator with him, her fingers laced together, her head bowed. He normally tolerated uneasy silence, but he found it suffocating now with her enclosed in a small space. Her and anger. He gripped the handrail behind him putting as much distance between them.

"Where's your ring?" he muttered darkly, haunted by the thought of becoming like his father.

"My ring?" Sakura glanced back at him, guarded.

"Your wedding ring."

"I'm operating all day... I can't have a ring on. It's in my locker."

"Do your friends know you're married?" he spoke above her.

"You mean, if they know you own me?" Sakura scoffed, her eyebrows twitching, and crossed her arms, her face darkening. "Maybe you should have tried peeing around me, so they would know. What's with men, god?"

Gaara wished he could yell this wasn't what he meant, but anger was unpredictable. His eyes shifted uneasily around the elevator avoiding her. He wished he could let the beast loose, but he was terrified he would hurt her. He hadn't thought of this side of him in too long.

But, he wasn't alone anymore.

Gaara turned toward her stonily even if the doors of the elevator slid open. He stared at her, his mouth working. His face contorted as if he were fighting with himself and the words pained him. She took a step back.

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"What?" she stammered.

He considered the distance between them, the laughter in the cafeteria pounding against his skull. Fear or anger, had he ever learned the difference between the two?

"I must be quite disappointing, I suppose," he said as he took a step back out of the elevator.

The gift bag thudded on the floor.

"No matter what they say in the papers... I'm not prince charming, am I?" Gaara muttered to himself and he walked out of the elevator without a glance back.

-X-

Sakura opened his present after her shift in the locker room.

She smiled, feeling the familiar weight of her stapler. She closed it a couple of times, giggling quietly to herself, her eyes brimmed with tears. Ino had bought her old one on one of her shopping spree and gave it to her when she left. As it was broken, she had recommended using it as a "means to crack skull open of nasty boys".

Sakura reached for her cellphone in her purse and her thumb hesitated over his number. Instead, she took a picture of it and sent it to Ino and Tenten, with the caption: "Cracking skulls of nasty boys with a new one!!"

Ino answered with a series of emojis varying from hearts to pandas.

'Why stop at the skull,' Tenten replied after a moment. 'Aim lowweerrrr'.

Sakura set it to the side and reached for the second smaller box. She pulled off the ribbons. Wincing, she opened the jewelry box. A delicate silver watch circled a cushion of black velvet. She flushed, her mouth dropping open.

Someone whistled behind her.

"Damn, you got yourself a boyfriend there, Sakura?"

Wickedly, Maki winked and sat down next to her to admire the watch.

"Ano, Maki-senpai..." Sakura shifted uneasily, blushing.

"Don't you watch the news, Maki?" Yuri snorted and slammed shut her locker. "Missy Pinky is now Gaara-sama's wife." she smirked coldly. "She's technically our boss, I guess."

Yuri strode out of the locker room, waving at them over her shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, girls. Sakura-sama," she added icily.

Sakura lowered her gaze to the watch. Maki returned it quietly and stood up. She bowed her head. She changed out of her scrub, without a glance back at her.

Sakura returned the gifts to the bag, her teeth clenched painfully over rising tears of anger. Squared-shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

Her body trembled.

She was the brittle leaf from Konoha.

She was exhausted.

#GaaSaku #gaasaku-fanfests #GaaSaku Fic & Art Challenge #fanfic #clem-chan

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