Blame the Rain [Part 1] [AIM Log] [Gaara and Shuuhei] [Closed]
[Backdated to April 5th due to real life reasons, my failing at the real life I speak of, and other things. Broken into two parts for length. Sort of. Part rated PG-ish.]
Part one of two.
If it was one thing Gaara did not like, it was the unnerving suspicion he was forgetting something as he stood before the door of apartment six, prepared to knock or invite himself in --whichever he decided upon first. He’d been running a mental check since he’d left, going over a self-imposed list as he had a tendency to forget things on occasion, but he still couldn’t figure it out.
Suitable clothes (even if it was a pair of rugged jeans and a thin black t-shirt). Brushed his hair (not that it actually helped tame the disobedient mess anyway), his teeth. Keys in his pocket. What little money he actually had and his ID stuffed in the opposite one --he didn’t care for using wallets. And aside from not bothering with leaving a note (he’d be back before dawn), Gaara could think of absolutely NOTHING he wasn’t remembering.
He scoffed slightly before straightening his features into a firm, nonchalant appearance, unable to believe he was acting so ridiculous, obsessing over such small details. It wasn’t as if this little rendezvous exceeded the definition of a simple outing to obtain chocolate, something he and his newest venture had in common. Shuuhei. An enigma, certainly.
Gaara rapped his knuckles lightly across the surface, expecting the other to answer. He’d said nothing of his roommates, hadn’t even bothered to ask who they were and if he knew them. Maybe tonight would be the perfect time to clear such trifles up.
Yes. Most definitely not a date.
Shuuhei looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, half-finished drawings scattered about, some looking as though they'd been crushed, and then uncrumpled and flattened as much as possible. Another unsuccessful drawing spree. He sighed and tossed the charcoal stick to join the scattered mess, standing and walking to the door. The only person he knew of who would stop by so late had to be Gaara, unless Tayuya or Anko were expecting anybody. Which he seriously doubted.
The man ran his hand through his hair as he opened the door, moving out of the way to let the redhead into the apartment, if he so desired to enter. He rubbed at his neck, working at getting out the kinks from lying on his stomach for so long, and began patting his pockets down, making sure he had what he needed. ID? Check; it was rubberbanded to his library card, Blockbuster card, and various expired or empty giftcards and membership cards that he'd never bothered getting rid of. Money? Of course; it was tucked safely in a depressingly thin wad in one of the lower pockets of his pants, located right next to his knee. Keys were on the table, he'd have to remember to grab those on the way out.
Satisfied, Shuuhei pulled his sweater over his head and nodded to Gaara, stubbornly ignoring the fact that it felt a lot like he was being picked up for some sort of occasion. Briefly, he contemplated risking asking one of his roommates if they wanted to come along, just to dissuade the fact that he was actually somewhat nervous about this, and then dismissed the thought. I'm a grown man, I don't need anyone holding my hand. He nodded to Gaara. "Hey."
He wasn’t sure if he liked the almost detached greeting he received from Shuuhei when his knock was answered and the other allowed him space to enter the apartment. There just wasn’t any challenge to it, no spunk or excitement in the tone he used, and Gaara caught himself before the frown slipped onto his lips and showed. Instead, he opted to stand half-in and half-out of the doorway, head cocked slightly to the side in his typical, almost-a-necessity examination of Shuuhei and the surrounding environment.
The apartment was just as he’d remembered it on that first meeting, though the addition of crumbled pieces of paper scattered upon the floor in random places sparked Gaara’s curiosity. From where he stood, it was difficult to make out the distinct lines and shapes sketched across the pale surfaces, but it was relatively obvious he’d interrupted a drawing session. That particular thought refreshed his memory of the incident in the bathroom not too far from where his gaze lingered, how he’d spread Shuuhei’s fingers with his own and outlined their fragility in his memory.
Artist’s hands.
His speculation hadn’t been wrong. Shuuhei was an artist. (Not that the random comments he’d replied to hadn’t helped in his deduction of such a thing.)
Gaara didn’t stop the almost sly smile from working itself onto pallid lips, the smallest hint of teeth showing through as he finally flickered a cool gaze over Shuuhei himself. Sweater a little disorganized from having just pulled it over his head, hair somewhat mussed and attempting to defy gravity from the static still left in the atmosphere. The corner of his mouth twitched upon noticing the barely visible streak of dark charcoal dancing just below his eye and across his cheekbone. Uninhibited in regards to invading personal space, Gaara quickly moved to Shuuhei, rubbing his thumb across warm skin to erase the mark before turning and making his intention to leave obvious.
Was Shuuhei nervous to be alone with him? He had detected just the slightest bit of apprehension in his body language. Gaara supposed he’d find out sooner or later.
Interesting. And over his shoulder, “Mm. Come on.” That was all he needed to speak.
He caught the way emerald eyes swept around the apartment, saw them linger for a second on the papers littering the floor, but missed the way the small smile crept onto Gaara's face. He was contemplating; did he want to clean up the papers now, not have a mess waiting for him when he came back, and make Gaara wait just that much longer before they left, or did he want to just leave them there for when he returned and risk pissing off one of the women? It was a known fact that women were violent when angry; therefore it was an entirely valid dilemma.
Shuuhei blinked in surprise at feeling the brief touch of a finger swiping across his cheek, turning to stare in bewilderment as Gaara made his way back to the door. A hand came up and rubbed at the skin, revealing a small smudge of charcoal. Ooh. So that was it. The faintest hint of redness bloomed across his cheeks. Wait, what? What the hell was he blushing for? He sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. It's what I get for being to damn... weird about this. He forced himself to relax, to calm the hell down. They were only going to get chocolate, that was all.
He nodded and moved to follow at Gaara's words, scooping his keys off the table as he walked past, noticing with slight amusement that the action made him feel somewhat like a pet dog being called by its owner. Now all he needed was a leash and collar. Woof woof.
Once they were out of the apartment, he locked the door and slipped the keys into his pocket, moving to place himself at Gaara's side as they walked. "So, where exactly are we going?"
Surprisingly little was exchanged between them until they were down the steps and out the door of the apartment building, Gaara deciding to contemplate Shuuhei’s latest question and let it simmer between them in the silence. He took occasional glances at the other walking beside him, continually observing even when they’d descended the few flights of stairs and exited the entrance with a quiet flourish --Gaara strangely unnerved as he’d held the door open for Shuuhei. In fact, they’d already started covering sidewalk by the time lips parted to respond, the words somewhat distant, removed.
He hadn’t even noticed the goosebumps working up his skin from the light but evidently chilly breeze of the almost morning air. Nor that he was actually shivering.
“Down the street. Good, cheap chocolate there.”
Gaara would buy. Of course he would. He hadn’t brought Shuuhei that syrup, had been almost crude and adamantly pushy about getting what he’d wanted in that bathroom, hands hotly groping and mouth sucking at that clean, addicting taste. Then the dinner Shuuhei had promised him ruined without second thought. He’d certainly made a mess of things, of a lot of things, but he wasn’t about to admit that small reverie aloud. Instead, another idea, one he briefly remembered upon having recalled receiving that last message, came to him. Sudden, too quick to process before it was slipping from his mouth. Brilliant.
Gaara’s pale mouth upturned into the faintest of smiles as he stopped the slow gate he’d been using to keep pace with the other beside him. Turquoise eyes shadowed by the overcast of a bright streetlight gazed at Shuuhei for a moment, the abrupt urge to lean forward in the open air of the darkness and taste those lips hitting his senses and recollection so quickly he had difficulty shoving it away to speak.
“Still interested in ice cream?” It didn’t matter it was somewhat cold, even for the supposed spring-like month. It didn’t matter Gaara couldn’t shake the internal thought Shuuhei was still afraid of him. It was perfect. Too perfect.
He cocked his head slightly to the side and awaited an answer, some sort of response, arms unconsciously crossed over his chest to hug body warmth to him.
It wasn't that he was bothered by it being silent between the two of them-- that wasn't it at all. Shuuhei was just used to hearing people talking no matter where he went. Then again, who would expect sane people to be outside at this time of night? (That would mean that they were insane, then, wouldn't it..?) The silence was... different, to say the least. And it didn't escape him whatsoever when Gaara held the door for him. Rather, he was somewhat.. perplexed. For no reason that he could think of, it had surprised him. Which, of course, made him feel a bit guilty, teeth beginning to work at the inside of his lip. What the hell. This was no different than when he used to go with Yumichika all the time to pick up stuff for his next new project.
Except Yumichika wasn't here. It was Gaara. And somehow, that made all the difference.
He snapped out of his reveries at hearing the redhead answer, that they were going down the street. He nodded in response. Sounded good. He almost opened his mouth to say something, to ask another question, then thought better of it, remaining silent. Hadn't it been his snarky mouth that had caused their last meeting to... erm... progress in such a way? Other than Gaara... being himself? He realized-- how could he be so sure that that was what Gaara was normally like? This was only the second time they'd met, it was impossible to know anything just yet.
Feet stopped a second after Gaara's, and Shuuhei looked at him inquisitively. Eyes hooded in shadow and a smile so light he wasn't sure it existed. What the hell was someone supposed to do?
And then he asked about the ice cream.
Shuuhei blinked, wondering just what spurred the question. ...Oh, that's right. That picture. He shrugged, a light grin tugging at his own features, and nodded. "Actually... yeah, kinda.." Eyebrows were tugged down ever so slightly when he finally noticed that Gaara wasn't wearing a sweater. Saw the small bumps on his arms, how he was actually shivering, despite how slight the movement. "..Hey, you want my hoodie? It's cold out. You'll get sick. Your siblings'll beat me unconscious if you catch a cold."
It wasn't that he actually cared that there was the chance Gaara could get sick. He just felt bad that he was the only one without a coat or something. So he said.
He’d ran the checklist again just to make certain he hadn’t forgotten anything, aside from his obviously lacking mental prowess that had somehow seemed to dissolve the moment Gaara had thoroughly gazed at Shuuhei a second time, lips thinned in wait for his answer. Items checked off and accounted for each and every time he’d thought about it, he noticed the semi-dismayed expression filtering across those rounded features, those eyes and that mouth. Even then, Gaara didn’t understand the automatic repetition in his head --he was forgetting something, he was-- or the (concerned?) look until words seeped in to his subconscious, blatantly beating his consciousness with a sign that read ‘I’m stupid. Please hit me.’ in frighteningly bold letters.
The flimsy jacket usually thrown over the top of his far-too-thin t-shirts had been left hanging on a kitchen chair in apartment eight.
It certainly explained the cold chill seeping through his skin and into his bones, instigating the now recognizable shudder of his body to help provide warmth so he didn’t end up a frozen Gaara popsicle. Ridiculous weather for the beginning of April. An even more ridiculous suggestion on Shuuhei’s behalf as Gaara never got sick, could never really remember being sick aside from the typical childhood illnesses like chicken pox, which had left him abnormally polka dotted and almost resembling a reversed strawberry. He would have also reprimanded him for saying such outlandish insinuations about his siblings, as he wouldn’t allow Temari or Kankurou to so much as look at Shuuhei wrong --another peculiar reasoning he just couldn’t see past-- but his throat was locked tight, eyes unable to cease their blatant staring.
Was this caring? Some alienated form of revenge for what he had done?
Gaara smiled softly and rather visibly this time. “Then what would you wear?” No sarcasm. No rough verbal litany that suggested he wanted to toy with him. It was just…there.
And before he could contemplate the consequences of his actions, Gaara was just a little closer, slender fingers reaching out to clasp Shuuhei’s own and hinting at the actual coolness of his skin when he intertwined them, rubbed a thumb over the back of his knuckles. A tender, out-of-place moment that lasted no more than a few seconds before the redhead was lightly pulling at the hand interlocked with his own, attempting to pull him forward.
“This way. It’s a bit far.” Somehow, it seemed as though all his foresight had disappeared, holding hands with Shuuhei as he gently tugged him down the sidewalk, ignoring what stares passed their way from the few people still out at such an odd hour. Gaara didn’t even mind the chill still biting at his skin, didn’t notice the grin, whimsical and foolish upon such a usually stoic face.
It was odd and exciting and new. Definitely new. He momentarily wondered what it was before stopping at a corner with Shuuhei in tow, waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street.
What would he wear? Well...... it was simple, wasn't it? If Shuuhei lent his hoodie to Gaara, then that meant that he wouldn't have one, and thus wouldn't be wearing anything aside from a worn-thin T-shirt. Then again, it was a long-sleeved shirt, which was better than nothing. He started forward, to give voice to his thoughts, when Gaara's hand met his own, holding on as he was pulled forward. He smiled and gave up, shaking his head and letting himself be dragged along. The stares and looks weren't what bothered him, not at all. It was the voices. As they went, he could hear people talking, heard snatches of the conversations, and more often than not it was about them. Granted, mainly it was about how the two of them were a pair of sexy men, the comments no doubt from bar-hopping young women they passed. But here and there, he heard them, the older women who should, by all rights, be fast asleep, looking down on the two of them and calling them derogatory names. Such language from such old people... He flipped them off as the two of them passed, grinning at the shocked looks he received.
When they slowed to a stop, Shuuhei stood up straight, taking a place next to Gaara. By then, it had slipped from his mind entirely that his hand was still twined with Gaara's, fingers laced together. It wasn't so bad, not really. He still didn't feel any signs of that sickness he had, or imagined he had. No sour taste in the back of his throat, his skin wasn't crawling, and there was a slight smile on his face. Unknowingly, his grip tightened, ever so slightly but still there. This was... fun? Was it really? Different, of course, and definitely not unpleasant.
As they waited for the light to change, it struck him. Gaara's hand had been bloody cold. He glanced to the side, observing the redhead from the corner of his eye. He still seemed pretty damn cold. A short, decisive sigh, and Shuuhei made up his mind, bringing it up again.
"I have a long-sleeve shirt. Wear my hoodie."
And if he objected again, then it was simple: Shuuhei would simply have to tie it around the other's skinny torso, and end up having to make him look like a fool for all to see on their way to the store.
An imperceptible shiver washed down Gaara’s spine with Shuuhei’s credulous command, deeper than the faint brush of cold still working over him, and he regarded him with a somewhat inquisitive gaze, a previously grinning mouth pressing thin. It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate the sentiment and thought behind the gesture --he was willing to freeze in that shirt he’d seen him in before he slipped that hoodie over his torso so he wouldn’t become a block of ice-- but Gaara just wasn’t the overly dependent type. He preferred doing things himself, even if those actions caused him to suffer in the end because of his lacking foresight. Like forgetting his jacket.
At least he hadn’t forgotten his keys. That would involve a process he’d rather not have to deal with after returning from this peculiar trip. Or forcing himself to ask Shuuhei to let him stay. Neither idea he was particularly fond of at the moment, though he did wonder what the other’s answer would have been under such circumstances.
His response was immediate and quick unlike before, the gentle shake of his head ruffling strands of crimson into a rather seductive fashion that framed his cheekbones and slightly pink ears. He didn’t want him to do that. Gaara’s fingers reflexively squeezed the hand clasped in his own as if in reassurance, pulling him just a little closer so the distance between them evaporated. And though he spent a larger portion of his time examining, heavily aware of the people and places around him, nothing caught his attention but Shuuhei’s shadowed features. How he appeared composed, determined. How soothing those eyes were as they regarded him quietly.
The light they were waiting on was still red, the few cars passing down the street vibrating the air with the slightest of breezes that caused Gaara to instinctively move even closer.
“You don’t have to.” Or was it that he didn’t want him to? That strange confusion was beginning to dominate his mind again, inducing light frustration.
Averting his thoughts, he wished they could cross the street and continuing walking instead of just standing there, Shuuhei’s proximity inducing a deep chill that had nothing to do with the weather at all.
"You don't have to."
Shuuhei shook his head. That wasn't going to work, not at all. He had no clue at all why he was so adamant against Gaara getting sick. Perhaps it was because of that cold he'd had the previous month? He didn't want anyone else to go through the headaches, and painful, wracking coughing. He sighed. It wasn't a real answer, but it still leaned to the side of denying his offer. Or at least, in his own mind it did.
He looked down the street at the other stoplights. Still green. Jesus Christ, how long is this godforsaken light? Still, it gave him the perfect opportunity to put his plan into action. His hand slid out of Gaara's, noticing only once it was free that he missed the touch of the other, and pulled it through his sleeve. He wriggled around a bit, pulling arms through fabric and his head popping out of sight, before he pulled the hoodie over his head and was out of it. He tugged his shirt down 'Damn static cling' and ruffled his hair, getting rid of any static the shift had caused.
He looked at Gaara. Hmmm.... this would be interesting. Another quick glance at the light; it was still green, but any longer and it'd be abnormal. Perfect.
The light turned yellow. His hoodie was bunched up, the hole for the head and neck meeting where the fabric wrapped around the torso. Shuuhei grinned and shoved it over Gaara's head, pushing the cloth so that it fell past his shoulders and trapped his arms by his sides. Then he stood there, looking over the redhead. "Not bad. Though, you should put your arms through the sleeves."
Then it was red. The walk sign appeared, and Shuuhei grabbed Gaara's hand again, pulling him across the street and silently laughing. He hadn't been called one of the most stubborn bastards in school for nothing.
Several sensations invaded Gaara at once, some powerful, others so strong he momentarily lost his breath at the feel of such unyielding awareness. First, it was the lacking warmth provided by Shuuhei’s fingers wrapped around his own when he’d pulled them away, enhancing the shudder down his spine into a spark of electricity that literally shocked him into gasping ever so slightly. Shortly after, it was followed by the engulfing burn of cloth as Shuuhei shoved the material of his hoodie over his head, momentarily blinding him to his already oblivious surroundings, and his arms were trapped against his sides until he’d begun fighting with the sleeves to slip thin limbs into their proper place. Heat seemed to spread into his toes, to the center of his soul, and Gaara sighed softly, inhaling air, the liquid warmth, and the smell.
God. That smell.
That clean scent he associated with Shuuhei, the delicious recollection causing his tongue to tingle. Gaara would not deny having thought about it when not preoccupied with school work or random reading, when he was drinking his chocolate milk at the table and swirling his spoon in the syrup-filled glass. There was also that distinct memory of having dreamed of the way his body craved to press against Shuuhei’s again, his lightly drooled-on keyboard evidence of what his mind desired to do when he’d accidentally fallen asleep. Unusual. Strange.
He didn’t have time to contemplate it.
The wind was in his face again, brushing hair away from his eyes as Shuuhei’s hold on his hand returned after he’d slipped his wrists past the cuffs. Perplexed but not quite as confused as before, Gaara allowed him to lead the way, wondering if he knew the place he’d mentioned that lay a few blocks down and a couple over. And when they were crossing another street, making it across with relatively little complication like at the previous corner, Gaara resisted Shuuhei’s pull, bringing them to a not-so-sudden stop. It won’t go away.
Without looking, without caring if anyone noticed them or not, he brought Shuuhei to him, arms sliding easily around an equally thin waist in an almost delicate hold before pressing his lips lightly to the edge of a still grinning mouth. Initiating a kiss, drowned in that taste and close contact. He didn’t want Shuuhei to push him away.
Feeling the tug on his hand, Shuuhei allowed himself to be pulled to a stop, turning to Gaara curiously. He felt the arms around his waist and the light touch on his mouth before he even knew what was happening. He froze instinctively for the briefest portion of a second before he realized that it was Gaara, hands sliding up to grasp lightly at his shoulders as he kissed back. And why the hell shouldn't he?
He wouldn't let himself admit that he'd missed this; missed the unique taste in his mouth, the sensation of another being pressed so close to him, missed being near the redhead at all. If asked, he would deny that he felt a touch of happiness at being able to be so close to Gaara, he would deny craving more of this, he would deny wanting to stay like this. It was…slightly unnerving, knowing that he felt like this.
When had his eyes slipped closed? When had his arms come to wrap around the other's shoulders? When had he come to want this touch so badly? Shuuhei didn't know. And frankly, he didn't much care. It didn't matter. It wasn't allowed to.
Faintly, ever so quietly, as if through layers and layers of cotton, he heard car horns, he heard yelling, he heard whistles, and came to the realization with a start that all the noise was directed at them. He knew that they should stop, that they should continue on their way, but he didn't want to move, didn't want to leave the other's embrace. It filled him with a strange warmth, despite the cold temperature. He didn't want to lose that, something he'd only felt for the second time in his life. He'd come to crave it.
As soon as the first drop landed on his arm, however, there was no avoiding it. He placed a soft kiss to the corner of Gaara's mouth, then looked up at the sky. That's right.. Hadn't Nanao and Nemu said something about rain? They must've left the building during one of the breaks in the downfall. He blinked in surprise as one landed between his eyes, then looked at Gaara. "....Damn. It's raining."
There was the softest exclamation of a moan in the back of his throat when Gaara realized that the distance between them was once again closed, Shuuhei’s body pressed into his and that mouth actively working to return the light kiss placed upon originally closed lips. It took his tongue less than a second to slip inside, desperate for another sample of such an exotic flavor, more of this person he was slowly, slowly beginning to understand. Shuuhei presented him with none of the sordid complications of the normal interactions between people that he had experienced in the past. Something simple, nothing that he couldn’t handle even though his control seemed to slip within the other’s presence.
Mouths pushing. Shuuhei’s arms wrapping around his shoulders and tightening, tugging him closer. Breath scorching, edible. Tongues touching and saliva mingling.
Gaara wanted so much closer, but Shuuhei briefly touched his lips with a final, almost departing kiss --of course, they were out in the open, in public-- and made an obvious observation about the weather when a cold drop landed on his face, causing him to send the most innocent expression radiating shock towards Gaara. For a moment, a strange, transcending plague of guilt washed over the redhead’s conscience as he heard Shuuhei’s words, absorbed the look those eyes directed towards him, and he wondered --hardly for the first time-- what he was doing, what was going on.
No more resistance. Not even the slightest of hesitations. Was Shuuhei playing with him now? Why did all of this have to be some sort of game and never honesty with him?
Must have been his screwed-up genetic coding.
“Does the smart boy want a star?” he teased quietly, ignoring the suddenly very THERE surroundings to lean forward and lick at the splash of water rolling slowly down the slope of Shuuhei’s nose, tasting sky and skin and enjoying it immensely. Gaara would have kissed him again had his body not moved of its own accord and started taking them down the street again, rain coming more and more frequently. He’d never had a particular fondness for weather like this, the unannounced showers catching its victims completely unaware, and the near running they were doing to avoid most of the downpour wasn’t helping to calm his nerves, either. Almost there. Just two more blocks.
And the monsoon hit.
Gaara instinctively jerked and tugged both himself and Shuuhei under the closest shelter nearby: a shadowed, empty doorstep with a haphazard canopy above it. The steady patter of the rain upon the concrete and asphalt as it hit the earth helped slow the thudding of his heart in his chest from having ran, Shuuhei’s hoodie somewhat damp, but when he glanced at the other, turquoise eyes tracing the outline of his body in the thin material of his long-sleeved shirt, Gaara thought he caught the faintest sight of a shiver. It was just natural to pull Shuuhei against him, wrap arms around his shoulders and lean back into the brick structure of the doorway, listening and waiting for the rain to end.
The whisper came a moment later, into the chilled shell of Shuuhei’s ear. “How about that star?”
Shuuhei's eyes fell closed automatically as Gaara moved forward, the corners of his mouth twitching as he felt the other's tongue swipe the raindrop away. When had this become acceptable? Hadn't he told himself to be wary? Not to let himself be drawn in, no matter what? He let himself be pulled along after Gaara, halfway in a daze as he thought. There was no explanation for it; at least not one that he could think of. There was no reason that he should trust the redhead after the 'incident' in his apartment, and yet he wanted to believe that every touch, every second spent with him wasn't a lie. Wanted to believe it so very badly.
And that was part of what confused him. Why was he so desperate for something? Was it just a deranged case of Stockholm Syndrome? Or was he being so artfully and completely led on by a string of lies and deception? Or was it something else? He didn't know. He didn't know, and wondered if he ever would.
Remembering the question knocked him out of his thoughts, separating them and waking him up to the real world. A grin broke out on his face as they moved, trying to dodge the rain-- it was reminiscent of kindergarten days when a kid would get a gold star for completing a task. It was almost fun, running in the rain like this. He liked the rainy weather, how the sky was overtaken by angry grey clouds that unleashed a liquid fury upon the unprepared world. It made him... comfortable, almost. Not to mention that he had had lots of fun playing in the rain as a child.
And then, he was soaking wet. It didn't even hit him that the rain had increased, just that he was very, very wet. Shuuhei shook his head, trying to get the rain out of his eyes. Failing, he gave up and kept running, leaving the directing to Gaara. He let himself be pulled into the doorstep, under the canopy, and wiped his face as best he could. It was obscene, how rain had fallen! Has it ever been this bad before? He couldn't remember a storm this bad, but being kept inside for most of them probably added to that fact. He shook himself a bit as a shudder ran down his spine, trying to dispel the water in his clothes without sprinkling it (or much of it, at least) onto Gaara. Well, at least one of them was warm, or at least slightly, and he was more than happy to brave out the cold.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back into Gaara's chest and holding him there. He leaned back and laid his hands on Gaara's arms, letting himself be held there, and watched the rain falling around them. It was peaceful like this.
A chilled breath washed over his ear. "How about that star?" If this wasn't what he'd told himself to be cautious of, then he was a flying monkey with purple polka-dotted wings. Oooh, but it held so many things. He tilted his head to the side, smiled into Gaara's cheek. "What's my prize?"
Part one of two.
If it was one thing Gaara did not like, it was the unnerving suspicion he was forgetting something as he stood before the door of apartment six, prepared to knock or invite himself in --whichever he decided upon first. He’d been running a mental check since he’d left, going over a self-imposed list as he had a tendency to forget things on occasion, but he still couldn’t figure it out.
Suitable clothes (even if it was a pair of rugged jeans and a thin black t-shirt). Brushed his hair (not that it actually helped tame the disobedient mess anyway), his teeth. Keys in his pocket. What little money he actually had and his ID stuffed in the opposite one --he didn’t care for using wallets. And aside from not bothering with leaving a note (he’d be back before dawn), Gaara could think of absolutely NOTHING he wasn’t remembering.
He scoffed slightly before straightening his features into a firm, nonchalant appearance, unable to believe he was acting so ridiculous, obsessing over such small details. It wasn’t as if this little rendezvous exceeded the definition of a simple outing to obtain chocolate, something he and his newest venture had in common. Shuuhei. An enigma, certainly.
Gaara rapped his knuckles lightly across the surface, expecting the other to answer. He’d said nothing of his roommates, hadn’t even bothered to ask who they were and if he knew them. Maybe tonight would be the perfect time to clear such trifles up.
Yes. Most definitely not a date.
Shuuhei looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, half-finished drawings scattered about, some looking as though they'd been crushed, and then uncrumpled and flattened as much as possible. Another unsuccessful drawing spree. He sighed and tossed the charcoal stick to join the scattered mess, standing and walking to the door. The only person he knew of who would stop by so late had to be Gaara, unless Tayuya or Anko were expecting anybody. Which he seriously doubted.
The man ran his hand through his hair as he opened the door, moving out of the way to let the redhead into the apartment, if he so desired to enter. He rubbed at his neck, working at getting out the kinks from lying on his stomach for so long, and began patting his pockets down, making sure he had what he needed. ID? Check; it was rubberbanded to his library card, Blockbuster card, and various expired or empty giftcards and membership cards that he'd never bothered getting rid of. Money? Of course; it was tucked safely in a depressingly thin wad in one of the lower pockets of his pants, located right next to his knee. Keys were on the table, he'd have to remember to grab those on the way out.
Satisfied, Shuuhei pulled his sweater over his head and nodded to Gaara, stubbornly ignoring the fact that it felt a lot like he was being picked up for some sort of occasion. Briefly, he contemplated risking asking one of his roommates if they wanted to come along, just to dissuade the fact that he was actually somewhat nervous about this, and then dismissed the thought. I'm a grown man, I don't need anyone holding my hand. He nodded to Gaara. "Hey."
He wasn’t sure if he liked the almost detached greeting he received from Shuuhei when his knock was answered and the other allowed him space to enter the apartment. There just wasn’t any challenge to it, no spunk or excitement in the tone he used, and Gaara caught himself before the frown slipped onto his lips and showed. Instead, he opted to stand half-in and half-out of the doorway, head cocked slightly to the side in his typical, almost-a-necessity examination of Shuuhei and the surrounding environment.
The apartment was just as he’d remembered it on that first meeting, though the addition of crumbled pieces of paper scattered upon the floor in random places sparked Gaara’s curiosity. From where he stood, it was difficult to make out the distinct lines and shapes sketched across the pale surfaces, but it was relatively obvious he’d interrupted a drawing session. That particular thought refreshed his memory of the incident in the bathroom not too far from where his gaze lingered, how he’d spread Shuuhei’s fingers with his own and outlined their fragility in his memory.
Artist’s hands.
His speculation hadn’t been wrong. Shuuhei was an artist. (Not that the random comments he’d replied to hadn’t helped in his deduction of such a thing.)
Gaara didn’t stop the almost sly smile from working itself onto pallid lips, the smallest hint of teeth showing through as he finally flickered a cool gaze over Shuuhei himself. Sweater a little disorganized from having just pulled it over his head, hair somewhat mussed and attempting to defy gravity from the static still left in the atmosphere. The corner of his mouth twitched upon noticing the barely visible streak of dark charcoal dancing just below his eye and across his cheekbone. Uninhibited in regards to invading personal space, Gaara quickly moved to Shuuhei, rubbing his thumb across warm skin to erase the mark before turning and making his intention to leave obvious.
Was Shuuhei nervous to be alone with him? He had detected just the slightest bit of apprehension in his body language. Gaara supposed he’d find out sooner or later.
Interesting. And over his shoulder, “Mm. Come on.” That was all he needed to speak.
He caught the way emerald eyes swept around the apartment, saw them linger for a second on the papers littering the floor, but missed the way the small smile crept onto Gaara's face. He was contemplating; did he want to clean up the papers now, not have a mess waiting for him when he came back, and make Gaara wait just that much longer before they left, or did he want to just leave them there for when he returned and risk pissing off one of the women? It was a known fact that women were violent when angry; therefore it was an entirely valid dilemma.
Shuuhei blinked in surprise at feeling the brief touch of a finger swiping across his cheek, turning to stare in bewilderment as Gaara made his way back to the door. A hand came up and rubbed at the skin, revealing a small smudge of charcoal. Ooh. So that was it. The faintest hint of redness bloomed across his cheeks. Wait, what? What the hell was he blushing for? He sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. It's what I get for being to damn... weird about this. He forced himself to relax, to calm the hell down. They were only going to get chocolate, that was all.
He nodded and moved to follow at Gaara's words, scooping his keys off the table as he walked past, noticing with slight amusement that the action made him feel somewhat like a pet dog being called by its owner. Now all he needed was a leash and collar. Woof woof.
Once they were out of the apartment, he locked the door and slipped the keys into his pocket, moving to place himself at Gaara's side as they walked. "So, where exactly are we going?"
Surprisingly little was exchanged between them until they were down the steps and out the door of the apartment building, Gaara deciding to contemplate Shuuhei’s latest question and let it simmer between them in the silence. He took occasional glances at the other walking beside him, continually observing even when they’d descended the few flights of stairs and exited the entrance with a quiet flourish --Gaara strangely unnerved as he’d held the door open for Shuuhei. In fact, they’d already started covering sidewalk by the time lips parted to respond, the words somewhat distant, removed.
He hadn’t even noticed the goosebumps working up his skin from the light but evidently chilly breeze of the almost morning air. Nor that he was actually shivering.
“Down the street. Good, cheap chocolate there.”
Gaara would buy. Of course he would. He hadn’t brought Shuuhei that syrup, had been almost crude and adamantly pushy about getting what he’d wanted in that bathroom, hands hotly groping and mouth sucking at that clean, addicting taste. Then the dinner Shuuhei had promised him ruined without second thought. He’d certainly made a mess of things, of a lot of things, but he wasn’t about to admit that small reverie aloud. Instead, another idea, one he briefly remembered upon having recalled receiving that last message, came to him. Sudden, too quick to process before it was slipping from his mouth. Brilliant.
Gaara’s pale mouth upturned into the faintest of smiles as he stopped the slow gate he’d been using to keep pace with the other beside him. Turquoise eyes shadowed by the overcast of a bright streetlight gazed at Shuuhei for a moment, the abrupt urge to lean forward in the open air of the darkness and taste those lips hitting his senses and recollection so quickly he had difficulty shoving it away to speak.
“Still interested in ice cream?” It didn’t matter it was somewhat cold, even for the supposed spring-like month. It didn’t matter Gaara couldn’t shake the internal thought Shuuhei was still afraid of him. It was perfect. Too perfect.
He cocked his head slightly to the side and awaited an answer, some sort of response, arms unconsciously crossed over his chest to hug body warmth to him.
It wasn't that he was bothered by it being silent between the two of them-- that wasn't it at all. Shuuhei was just used to hearing people talking no matter where he went. Then again, who would expect sane people to be outside at this time of night? (That would mean that they were insane, then, wouldn't it..?) The silence was... different, to say the least. And it didn't escape him whatsoever when Gaara held the door for him. Rather, he was somewhat.. perplexed. For no reason that he could think of, it had surprised him. Which, of course, made him feel a bit guilty, teeth beginning to work at the inside of his lip. What the hell. This was no different than when he used to go with Yumichika all the time to pick up stuff for his next new project.
Except Yumichika wasn't here. It was Gaara. And somehow, that made all the difference.
He snapped out of his reveries at hearing the redhead answer, that they were going down the street. He nodded in response. Sounded good. He almost opened his mouth to say something, to ask another question, then thought better of it, remaining silent. Hadn't it been his snarky mouth that had caused their last meeting to... erm... progress in such a way? Other than Gaara... being himself? He realized-- how could he be so sure that that was what Gaara was normally like? This was only the second time they'd met, it was impossible to know anything just yet.
Feet stopped a second after Gaara's, and Shuuhei looked at him inquisitively. Eyes hooded in shadow and a smile so light he wasn't sure it existed. What the hell was someone supposed to do?
And then he asked about the ice cream.
Shuuhei blinked, wondering just what spurred the question. ...Oh, that's right. That picture. He shrugged, a light grin tugging at his own features, and nodded. "Actually... yeah, kinda.." Eyebrows were tugged down ever so slightly when he finally noticed that Gaara wasn't wearing a sweater. Saw the small bumps on his arms, how he was actually shivering, despite how slight the movement. "..Hey, you want my hoodie? It's cold out. You'll get sick. Your siblings'll beat me unconscious if you catch a cold."
It wasn't that he actually cared that there was the chance Gaara could get sick. He just felt bad that he was the only one without a coat or something. So he said.
He’d ran the checklist again just to make certain he hadn’t forgotten anything, aside from his obviously lacking mental prowess that had somehow seemed to dissolve the moment Gaara had thoroughly gazed at Shuuhei a second time, lips thinned in wait for his answer. Items checked off and accounted for each and every time he’d thought about it, he noticed the semi-dismayed expression filtering across those rounded features, those eyes and that mouth. Even then, Gaara didn’t understand the automatic repetition in his head --he was forgetting something, he was-- or the (concerned?) look until words seeped in to his subconscious, blatantly beating his consciousness with a sign that read ‘I’m stupid. Please hit me.’ in frighteningly bold letters.
The flimsy jacket usually thrown over the top of his far-too-thin t-shirts had been left hanging on a kitchen chair in apartment eight.
It certainly explained the cold chill seeping through his skin and into his bones, instigating the now recognizable shudder of his body to help provide warmth so he didn’t end up a frozen Gaara popsicle. Ridiculous weather for the beginning of April. An even more ridiculous suggestion on Shuuhei’s behalf as Gaara never got sick, could never really remember being sick aside from the typical childhood illnesses like chicken pox, which had left him abnormally polka dotted and almost resembling a reversed strawberry. He would have also reprimanded him for saying such outlandish insinuations about his siblings, as he wouldn’t allow Temari or Kankurou to so much as look at Shuuhei wrong --another peculiar reasoning he just couldn’t see past-- but his throat was locked tight, eyes unable to cease their blatant staring.
Was this caring? Some alienated form of revenge for what he had done?
Gaara smiled softly and rather visibly this time. “Then what would you wear?” No sarcasm. No rough verbal litany that suggested he wanted to toy with him. It was just…there.
And before he could contemplate the consequences of his actions, Gaara was just a little closer, slender fingers reaching out to clasp Shuuhei’s own and hinting at the actual coolness of his skin when he intertwined them, rubbed a thumb over the back of his knuckles. A tender, out-of-place moment that lasted no more than a few seconds before the redhead was lightly pulling at the hand interlocked with his own, attempting to pull him forward.
“This way. It’s a bit far.” Somehow, it seemed as though all his foresight had disappeared, holding hands with Shuuhei as he gently tugged him down the sidewalk, ignoring what stares passed their way from the few people still out at such an odd hour. Gaara didn’t even mind the chill still biting at his skin, didn’t notice the grin, whimsical and foolish upon such a usually stoic face.
It was odd and exciting and new. Definitely new. He momentarily wondered what it was before stopping at a corner with Shuuhei in tow, waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street.
What would he wear? Well...... it was simple, wasn't it? If Shuuhei lent his hoodie to Gaara, then that meant that he wouldn't have one, and thus wouldn't be wearing anything aside from a worn-thin T-shirt. Then again, it was a long-sleeved shirt, which was better than nothing. He started forward, to give voice to his thoughts, when Gaara's hand met his own, holding on as he was pulled forward. He smiled and gave up, shaking his head and letting himself be dragged along. The stares and looks weren't what bothered him, not at all. It was the voices. As they went, he could hear people talking, heard snatches of the conversations, and more often than not it was about them. Granted, mainly it was about how the two of them were a pair of sexy men, the comments no doubt from bar-hopping young women they passed. But here and there, he heard them, the older women who should, by all rights, be fast asleep, looking down on the two of them and calling them derogatory names. Such language from such old people... He flipped them off as the two of them passed, grinning at the shocked looks he received.
When they slowed to a stop, Shuuhei stood up straight, taking a place next to Gaara. By then, it had slipped from his mind entirely that his hand was still twined with Gaara's, fingers laced together. It wasn't so bad, not really. He still didn't feel any signs of that sickness he had, or imagined he had. No sour taste in the back of his throat, his skin wasn't crawling, and there was a slight smile on his face. Unknowingly, his grip tightened, ever so slightly but still there. This was... fun? Was it really? Different, of course, and definitely not unpleasant.
As they waited for the light to change, it struck him. Gaara's hand had been bloody cold. He glanced to the side, observing the redhead from the corner of his eye. He still seemed pretty damn cold. A short, decisive sigh, and Shuuhei made up his mind, bringing it up again.
"I have a long-sleeve shirt. Wear my hoodie."
And if he objected again, then it was simple: Shuuhei would simply have to tie it around the other's skinny torso, and end up having to make him look like a fool for all to see on their way to the store.
An imperceptible shiver washed down Gaara’s spine with Shuuhei’s credulous command, deeper than the faint brush of cold still working over him, and he regarded him with a somewhat inquisitive gaze, a previously grinning mouth pressing thin. It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate the sentiment and thought behind the gesture --he was willing to freeze in that shirt he’d seen him in before he slipped that hoodie over his torso so he wouldn’t become a block of ice-- but Gaara just wasn’t the overly dependent type. He preferred doing things himself, even if those actions caused him to suffer in the end because of his lacking foresight. Like forgetting his jacket.
At least he hadn’t forgotten his keys. That would involve a process he’d rather not have to deal with after returning from this peculiar trip. Or forcing himself to ask Shuuhei to let him stay. Neither idea he was particularly fond of at the moment, though he did wonder what the other’s answer would have been under such circumstances.
His response was immediate and quick unlike before, the gentle shake of his head ruffling strands of crimson into a rather seductive fashion that framed his cheekbones and slightly pink ears. He didn’t want him to do that. Gaara’s fingers reflexively squeezed the hand clasped in his own as if in reassurance, pulling him just a little closer so the distance between them evaporated. And though he spent a larger portion of his time examining, heavily aware of the people and places around him, nothing caught his attention but Shuuhei’s shadowed features. How he appeared composed, determined. How soothing those eyes were as they regarded him quietly.
The light they were waiting on was still red, the few cars passing down the street vibrating the air with the slightest of breezes that caused Gaara to instinctively move even closer.
“You don’t have to.” Or was it that he didn’t want him to? That strange confusion was beginning to dominate his mind again, inducing light frustration.
Averting his thoughts, he wished they could cross the street and continuing walking instead of just standing there, Shuuhei’s proximity inducing a deep chill that had nothing to do with the weather at all.
"You don't have to."
Shuuhei shook his head. That wasn't going to work, not at all. He had no clue at all why he was so adamant against Gaara getting sick. Perhaps it was because of that cold he'd had the previous month? He didn't want anyone else to go through the headaches, and painful, wracking coughing. He sighed. It wasn't a real answer, but it still leaned to the side of denying his offer. Or at least, in his own mind it did.
He looked down the street at the other stoplights. Still green. Jesus Christ, how long is this godforsaken light? Still, it gave him the perfect opportunity to put his plan into action. His hand slid out of Gaara's, noticing only once it was free that he missed the touch of the other, and pulled it through his sleeve. He wriggled around a bit, pulling arms through fabric and his head popping out of sight, before he pulled the hoodie over his head and was out of it. He tugged his shirt down 'Damn static cling' and ruffled his hair, getting rid of any static the shift had caused.
He looked at Gaara. Hmmm.... this would be interesting. Another quick glance at the light; it was still green, but any longer and it'd be abnormal. Perfect.
The light turned yellow. His hoodie was bunched up, the hole for the head and neck meeting where the fabric wrapped around the torso. Shuuhei grinned and shoved it over Gaara's head, pushing the cloth so that it fell past his shoulders and trapped his arms by his sides. Then he stood there, looking over the redhead. "Not bad. Though, you should put your arms through the sleeves."
Then it was red. The walk sign appeared, and Shuuhei grabbed Gaara's hand again, pulling him across the street and silently laughing. He hadn't been called one of the most stubborn bastards in school for nothing.
Several sensations invaded Gaara at once, some powerful, others so strong he momentarily lost his breath at the feel of such unyielding awareness. First, it was the lacking warmth provided by Shuuhei’s fingers wrapped around his own when he’d pulled them away, enhancing the shudder down his spine into a spark of electricity that literally shocked him into gasping ever so slightly. Shortly after, it was followed by the engulfing burn of cloth as Shuuhei shoved the material of his hoodie over his head, momentarily blinding him to his already oblivious surroundings, and his arms were trapped against his sides until he’d begun fighting with the sleeves to slip thin limbs into their proper place. Heat seemed to spread into his toes, to the center of his soul, and Gaara sighed softly, inhaling air, the liquid warmth, and the smell.
God. That smell.
That clean scent he associated with Shuuhei, the delicious recollection causing his tongue to tingle. Gaara would not deny having thought about it when not preoccupied with school work or random reading, when he was drinking his chocolate milk at the table and swirling his spoon in the syrup-filled glass. There was also that distinct memory of having dreamed of the way his body craved to press against Shuuhei’s again, his lightly drooled-on keyboard evidence of what his mind desired to do when he’d accidentally fallen asleep. Unusual. Strange.
He didn’t have time to contemplate it.
The wind was in his face again, brushing hair away from his eyes as Shuuhei’s hold on his hand returned after he’d slipped his wrists past the cuffs. Perplexed but not quite as confused as before, Gaara allowed him to lead the way, wondering if he knew the place he’d mentioned that lay a few blocks down and a couple over. And when they were crossing another street, making it across with relatively little complication like at the previous corner, Gaara resisted Shuuhei’s pull, bringing them to a not-so-sudden stop. It won’t go away.
Without looking, without caring if anyone noticed them or not, he brought Shuuhei to him, arms sliding easily around an equally thin waist in an almost delicate hold before pressing his lips lightly to the edge of a still grinning mouth. Initiating a kiss, drowned in that taste and close contact. He didn’t want Shuuhei to push him away.
Feeling the tug on his hand, Shuuhei allowed himself to be pulled to a stop, turning to Gaara curiously. He felt the arms around his waist and the light touch on his mouth before he even knew what was happening. He froze instinctively for the briefest portion of a second before he realized that it was Gaara, hands sliding up to grasp lightly at his shoulders as he kissed back. And why the hell shouldn't he?
He wouldn't let himself admit that he'd missed this; missed the unique taste in his mouth, the sensation of another being pressed so close to him, missed being near the redhead at all. If asked, he would deny that he felt a touch of happiness at being able to be so close to Gaara, he would deny craving more of this, he would deny wanting to stay like this. It was…slightly unnerving, knowing that he felt like this.
When had his eyes slipped closed? When had his arms come to wrap around the other's shoulders? When had he come to want this touch so badly? Shuuhei didn't know. And frankly, he didn't much care. It didn't matter. It wasn't allowed to.
Faintly, ever so quietly, as if through layers and layers of cotton, he heard car horns, he heard yelling, he heard whistles, and came to the realization with a start that all the noise was directed at them. He knew that they should stop, that they should continue on their way, but he didn't want to move, didn't want to leave the other's embrace. It filled him with a strange warmth, despite the cold temperature. He didn't want to lose that, something he'd only felt for the second time in his life. He'd come to crave it.
As soon as the first drop landed on his arm, however, there was no avoiding it. He placed a soft kiss to the corner of Gaara's mouth, then looked up at the sky. That's right.. Hadn't Nanao and Nemu said something about rain? They must've left the building during one of the breaks in the downfall. He blinked in surprise as one landed between his eyes, then looked at Gaara. "....Damn. It's raining."
There was the softest exclamation of a moan in the back of his throat when Gaara realized that the distance between them was once again closed, Shuuhei’s body pressed into his and that mouth actively working to return the light kiss placed upon originally closed lips. It took his tongue less than a second to slip inside, desperate for another sample of such an exotic flavor, more of this person he was slowly, slowly beginning to understand. Shuuhei presented him with none of the sordid complications of the normal interactions between people that he had experienced in the past. Something simple, nothing that he couldn’t handle even though his control seemed to slip within the other’s presence.
Mouths pushing. Shuuhei’s arms wrapping around his shoulders and tightening, tugging him closer. Breath scorching, edible. Tongues touching and saliva mingling.
Gaara wanted so much closer, but Shuuhei briefly touched his lips with a final, almost departing kiss --of course, they were out in the open, in public-- and made an obvious observation about the weather when a cold drop landed on his face, causing him to send the most innocent expression radiating shock towards Gaara. For a moment, a strange, transcending plague of guilt washed over the redhead’s conscience as he heard Shuuhei’s words, absorbed the look those eyes directed towards him, and he wondered --hardly for the first time-- what he was doing, what was going on.
No more resistance. Not even the slightest of hesitations. Was Shuuhei playing with him now? Why did all of this have to be some sort of game and never honesty with him?
Must have been his screwed-up genetic coding.
“Does the smart boy want a star?” he teased quietly, ignoring the suddenly very THERE surroundings to lean forward and lick at the splash of water rolling slowly down the slope of Shuuhei’s nose, tasting sky and skin and enjoying it immensely. Gaara would have kissed him again had his body not moved of its own accord and started taking them down the street again, rain coming more and more frequently. He’d never had a particular fondness for weather like this, the unannounced showers catching its victims completely unaware, and the near running they were doing to avoid most of the downpour wasn’t helping to calm his nerves, either. Almost there. Just two more blocks.
And the monsoon hit.
Gaara instinctively jerked and tugged both himself and Shuuhei under the closest shelter nearby: a shadowed, empty doorstep with a haphazard canopy above it. The steady patter of the rain upon the concrete and asphalt as it hit the earth helped slow the thudding of his heart in his chest from having ran, Shuuhei’s hoodie somewhat damp, but when he glanced at the other, turquoise eyes tracing the outline of his body in the thin material of his long-sleeved shirt, Gaara thought he caught the faintest sight of a shiver. It was just natural to pull Shuuhei against him, wrap arms around his shoulders and lean back into the brick structure of the doorway, listening and waiting for the rain to end.
The whisper came a moment later, into the chilled shell of Shuuhei’s ear. “How about that star?”
Shuuhei's eyes fell closed automatically as Gaara moved forward, the corners of his mouth twitching as he felt the other's tongue swipe the raindrop away. When had this become acceptable? Hadn't he told himself to be wary? Not to let himself be drawn in, no matter what? He let himself be pulled along after Gaara, halfway in a daze as he thought. There was no explanation for it; at least not one that he could think of. There was no reason that he should trust the redhead after the 'incident' in his apartment, and yet he wanted to believe that every touch, every second spent with him wasn't a lie. Wanted to believe it so very badly.
And that was part of what confused him. Why was he so desperate for something? Was it just a deranged case of Stockholm Syndrome? Or was he being so artfully and completely led on by a string of lies and deception? Or was it something else? He didn't know. He didn't know, and wondered if he ever would.
Remembering the question knocked him out of his thoughts, separating them and waking him up to the real world. A grin broke out on his face as they moved, trying to dodge the rain-- it was reminiscent of kindergarten days when a kid would get a gold star for completing a task. It was almost fun, running in the rain like this. He liked the rainy weather, how the sky was overtaken by angry grey clouds that unleashed a liquid fury upon the unprepared world. It made him... comfortable, almost. Not to mention that he had had lots of fun playing in the rain as a child.
And then, he was soaking wet. It didn't even hit him that the rain had increased, just that he was very, very wet. Shuuhei shook his head, trying to get the rain out of his eyes. Failing, he gave up and kept running, leaving the directing to Gaara. He let himself be pulled into the doorstep, under the canopy, and wiped his face as best he could. It was obscene, how rain had fallen! Has it ever been this bad before? He couldn't remember a storm this bad, but being kept inside for most of them probably added to that fact. He shook himself a bit as a shudder ran down his spine, trying to dispel the water in his clothes without sprinkling it (or much of it, at least) onto Gaara. Well, at least one of them was warm, or at least slightly, and he was more than happy to brave out the cold.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back into Gaara's chest and holding him there. He leaned back and laid his hands on Gaara's arms, letting himself be held there, and watched the rain falling around them. It was peaceful like this.
A chilled breath washed over his ear. "How about that star?" If this wasn't what he'd told himself to be cautious of, then he was a flying monkey with purple polka-dotted wings. Oooh, but it held so many things. He tilted his head to the side, smiled into Gaara's cheek. "What's my prize?"