Like Friends Don’t [Part 1] [AIM Log] [Gaara and Nanao] [Closed]
[Rated PG13-ish. Set to take place earlier today.]
Part one of two.
The rain had left a musty smell in the air, heavy with that odd scent of freshly turned earth. Frankly, the smell was making Nanao’s head ache. She’d finally finished her laundry after battling with the machine; finally got everything folded and hung and put up. Now she was left with few options. Television… no… Nothing on. I could write, I suppose… She eyed her pen, resting on top of her journal and felt absolutely nothing she wanted to write about.
“Well, I suppose I could read.” She wandered over to the bookshelf and ran her fingers over the spines of all the books, smiling as she felt all the indentations. Her hand moved steadily along the books until it reached a pile not familiar. Not her own.
She’d been meaning to return them to him for a while now. “Well. No time like the present… maybe this is why he hasn’t been talking to me.” Nanao carefully pulled the books out and settled them next to the door, then padded back to her room. She pulled on an old loose sweatshirt over her tank top and grabbed the books on her way out.
Bare feet hurried up the stairs, stopping in front of Apartment 8, where she bent down to set the books by the door.
In ten minutes, he was going to be late.
At first, Gaara’s set schedule had been perfectly organized as he’d been well-prepared for class, had enough time to shower before he needed to be out the door and down the street towards the university. However, certain things had not been accounted for in his hurrying to get ready. Like slipping in the shower and colliding with the wall. Or the fact he’d misplaced his keys and had to spend several minutes searching for them until he’d found them under a pile of t-shirts he hadn’t bothered to pick up. Then there’d been the accident in the kitchen with a glass of chocolate milk, the counter covered in a lovely shade of pale brown until he’d found a towel to sop up the mess.
Wet strands of red hair still damp from his shower clinging to the nape of his neck and backpack slung lopsidedly over one shoulder, Gaara wrestled with his shoes before opening up the door to rush out into the hall. He hadn’t expected the sight that greeted him, hadn’t been expecting it at all. Stopping short of almost running over the woman bending over to place books beside the door, Gaara blinked turquoise eyes at her.
He hadn’t seen her in the longest time, hadn’t spoken with her because…
“Nanao?” Gaara couldn’t think of anything else to say, suddenly (and strangely) tongue-tied.
Loose braids flopped over her shoulders as she looked up at the sudden appearance. “Oh. Good afternoon, Gaara. I was just returning these,” she murmured as she straightened. One eyebrow rose at his appearance, lingering on the still damp hair. “I finally finished them. Thank you for letting me borrow them.” Her hands slipped under the overly long sweatshirt, the action bunching it up at her waist, her hands moving to slide into her pockets. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it today. I hope it gets better for you.” She flashed a slight smile at him and turned, intending to head back downstairs.
Lips pressed thin at her remarkably formal words and abrupt retreat to return to her apartment, previously loose hands clenching and unclenching, sliding through damp hair, and clenching again. Did everyone enjoy tormenting him with confusion? It made him mentally restless, unable to concentrate on the simplest of things --was that the reason he’d become so absentminded and clumsy as of late?-- and Gaara’s gaze narrowed at Nanao’s back as she retreated.
Perhaps he was just a little naïve at not understanding her sudden turn of personality, why she’d seemed to distance herself from him. Granted, he wasn’t the most approachable of people, had the hugest problem with speaking what he actually thought rather than some twisted conundrum that hardly made any sense. Yet…
“I’m fine,” he forced himself to speak, walking quickly to catch up with her, stop her with a gentle grab of her wrist. Gaara had never been overly touchy when it came to others, but as of late, the smallest bit of contact seemed to help him connect, held him fast to reality. “How’ve you been?”
It really didn’t register that the middle of the second floor hallway wasn’t a very appropriate place to be having such a conversation, but Gaara had never been one to think of such trifles.
She stopped in her tracks when she felt the hand close around her wrist, messy braids flying as she turned to face him. The polite smile was still on her lips, barely reaching her eyes. “I’ve been good. I got a new job, so I’m not working at the café anymore.” The smile grew as she thought of her luck lately. “Really, working at the college library is perfect for me.”
The glasses had slid almost all the way off of her nose, but she ignored them as she stood before Gaara, her wrist still circled by his hand. She was glad to see him, but she could tell something was… different.
“How’ve you been?”
Really, by now she should know not to ask. Most of the time, he wouldn’t tell her.
There was certainly something peculiar and off-key to her expression, the way she looked at him without really seeming particularly happy. Her smile --still lovely and capable of making his heart beat right out of his chest-- appeared forced, her eyes unreflecting of the emotion she tried to persuade him with, and Gaara’s once again neutral demeanor edged into a frown. Most of the time, his observation of people and their body language, how to read them without coming across so obviously wasn’t so inconvenient, but at that moment, it was probably the worst trait for him to possess.
In noticing the slip of those glasses down her nose and the braids in her hair, Gaara also wanted to utter that word he’d thought in reference to Shuuhei the day before. But Nanao wasn’t cute. She was something ethereal, something…beautiful.
And Gaara blinked in shock at the blatant reverie, dropping his gaze down to stare at the wrist he held as he attempted processing her question. But all he could think was Don’t look suspicious. It’s not like you.
“I decided to skip my class today,” he muttered quietly, feeling uncharacteristically stupid with such a response. The weight of his backpack on his shoulder suddenly seemed much heavier.
One eyebrow climbed at his declaration. “Why would you have your backpack then?” She flicked her eyes to the strap visibly weighing down his shoulder. With a soft chuckle, she shook her head. “You should go put it up… it’s not good to weigh down one side so much… causes stress.” After her head stopped moving, her eyes feel on her captured wrist. The smile softened even more, almost fond.
“I didn’t ask what you were doing… I asked how you were. I’ve missed talking to you.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a murmur.
Of course he wasn’t going to tell her that skipping class was an immediate decision based solely upon the fact he’d run into her on his way out the door less than ten minutes before it had been due to start. So, in answer to that particular statement regarding his backpack, Gaara merely lifted his opposite shoulder --the one free of the bag’s strap-- in a shrug and released the hold he had on her. He knew he was doing it again, withdrawing back into that protected little shell of thoughts where no one could accessibly reach him, but it wasn’t as if he was doing it on purpose. Not with Nanao.
Old, ingrained habits were so terribly hard to alter, even if he wanted to.
“I’ve missed talking to you.” He’d have smiled at such a thing, would have replied with “And I’ve missed listening.”, but nothing relatively close to that happened or was spoken. Gaara took a step back, inhaling her appearance with a quick flick of his eyes, the bare state of her feet, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, hair sliding from the typically concealed plane of faint scarring existing there on his forehead. He didn’t notice but for the faint chill coursing down his spine.
“The same as always. I…” And then his brain did something completely unexpected. It shut down. Without permission.
Lips moved of their own accord. “Are you angry with me, Nanao?”
It was a question she hadn’t expected. She allowed her hands to drop to her sides, held loosely open as she mentally turned his words over. Slowly, her head shook, dislodging her glasses even more. She pushed them back up with an impatient sigh and looked Gaara straight on, meeting his look with a serious one of her own. “I was… but I’m not now. This whole time, I’ve been asking myself the same question…”
She didn’t feel self conscious under his gaze. Not like before. She’d settled many things in her life by returning, left a weaker Nanao behind with the past. “Why would you ask me that, Gaara? Think that?”
Good one, Gaara.
Silently, after he’d managed to kick start his mind from the malfunctioning mess it momentarily had been, he was ridiculing himself. How had such a thing escaped his thoughts, much less formed a verbal sound and slid off his tongue? And she had been angry at him? For what? When? Why? Gaara comprehended nothing but the naivety of his own actions as he’d always acted little upon the knowledge that others were not like him. They needed those useless extras like kind looks, frequent touches, and murmured explanations.
Though Nanao didn’t appear to be as overly co-dependent on such things, Gaara would give her something. Something because he didn’t have words for what she still made him feel, the differences between her and him --God, him-- driving him absolutely insane. He had no idea how to decide, where to even begin.
So he opened his mouth.
“I just thought you were.” No, not good enough. But he couldn’t go any further than that. “I suppose I should apologize.”
And strangely, Gaara abruptly felt sick to his stomach.
Her hair bobbed as she shook her head again. "There's no need for an apology. Not between…"
Between what? Friends? Something else?
"Not between us." She finally looked at Gaara, really looked at him. "So, why are you skipping class?" Yes, it was a basic question, but she really didn't know what else to say to him. I can't believe I'm asking him that.
She'd been confused by his distance, but she'd decided to allow him space if he wanted. When she came back from dealing with her family, she knew she was in no shape to deal with anything. Perhaps she'd been distracted, but once she'd settled in with no word from him, she figured he had no desire to talk to her again.
The slight hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Of course not. He was Gaara, capable of picking up on the most redundant of things and twisting them so they leveled with whatever he was thinking at the moment. It made it easier to pretend, to step away when he didn’t have the need or feel or want to do anything like…this. This and the whatever not between them. There should have been more thought put into what he was going to say to her, how he should have addressed her accordingly so things didn’t seem out of place, irregular, but time waited for no one, especially someone as ridiculously foolish and stupid as Gaara.
Why can’t I think?!
“I’m indulging in conversation,” he answered thoughtlessly, running a hand through the wet mess of his hair and wondering how chaotic he appeared. Nanao seemed perfectly content and lovely as she was --even with her braided hair messily adorning her face, her bare feet and sweater. And then, Gaara’s mouth twisted into a semi-obvious frown. Since when had he started paying attention to things like that, appearance and how others perceived him? Something was definitely wrong, but he didn’t know. Didn’t know like all those times before.
“I said you didn’t have to bother returning them.” A vague statement, Gaara knew, but he didn’t want to risk saying anything else. There was the momentary underlying insinuation in the back of his mind he wasn’t speaking of the books, just couldn’t phrase what he was talking about any other way, but he shook it loose with a quick turn of his head. Better to not wonder at all.
The sight of his frown caused her cautious smile to slip a fraction, obviously concerned. “You don’t usually indulge in conversation, Gaara…” A shiver ran over her, her toes twisting under as if they were suddenly chilled. She poked at the books with her foot, barely nudging them. “It wasn’t a bother. I appreciated it.” She left the subject silent, hoping he’d understand just how much she did appreciate what he’d done for her.
Everything he’d done.
She glanced around the hallway, glad it was empty. She didn’t like the idea of this conversation taking place in such… open air. “Did you want to stay out here to talk? I’m getting a bit hot… “ She absently plucked at the ragged hem of her sweatshirt, hoping to get some air under it, even if the hallway in the building was stifling.
His guise must have been terribly easy for Nanao to see through for her to make such a blatant statement about his conversing skills or lack thereof rather. Couldn’t he just turn around, shut the door, and hide in himself like he usually did? Not even bother with the PC in his room because that was also a connection to everything he just didn’t want to really explain. What was the point, anyway? Was there one? Gaara would have blamed someone --Kankurou, Shuuhei, Nanao, maybe himself-- if he’d ever been one to point fingers.
But that wasn’t how he worked, what made him Gaara. It never really had, although, at this moment, he was having difficulty defining himself and making it believable.
What am I doing? He really wanted to know.
“Perhaps I don’t, but I am at the moment,” he began softly, once against running his hand through his hair. It was sticking to his fingers and wasn’t the most wonderful texture to deal with. “If you wanted to come in…” Carefully indicating the still open apartment door, he hadn’t bothered closing it as he’d been more intent on stopping Nanao from walking back down the steps, Gaara wondered if she would accept the invitation. A second time asking her into his sanctuary, a second time with everything.
Maybe he should have given up thinking permanently because it certainly wasn’t helping him at all. Not now. Not with her.
An invitation?
She glanced at the open door, then back to the redhead. “I don’t want to disturb you… even if you’re skipping class. I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing.” He’d made that perfectly clear in his absence since she’d returned, or so she thought. She shrugged, the wide neck of the old sweatshirt sliding away from her neck, showing the thin strap of her tank top. “You know I like talking to you, Gaara. I just didn’t think you wanted to talk to me anymore.”
Her brain had stopped working, but her mouth had kept going. She hated it when it did that.
It was as if all the problems he’d ever had when attempting to convince someone otherwise --to trust him, ignore his overly cryptic behavior-- had made a complete reverse in his head, somehow angering him. This was partly why he avoided trying to explain, why he preferred watching and only saying what he deemed necessary to say. The volley of their words, how they seemed to avoid one another so easily was unnerving, bothered some internal part of him he hadn’t realized existed until recently, and it did nothing but prod hostility, the planes of his face, usually so stoic and cool, calm to those that happened to glance his way, fading into a semblance of irritation. Gaara bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to push it away because he really didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t know what to do if this annoyance gripped him to the point he wouldn’t be able to control it.
Control was a necessity he refused to be without.
“You’re not bothering me.” How many times had he said that to her? How many times had he meant it? Was his voice tinged with the slightest hint of pessimism? Gaara thought it might have been. “And why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”
Yes. That steady confinement he’d so proudly been able to keep hold of was starting to crack, and he had no idea why.
“Perhaps the fact that you haven’t. That’s an indication, usually.” Yes, her tone was a bit short, but she didn’t notice. She’d been bothered that he hadn’t spoken to her since she’d returned. Granted, that wasn’t as difficult as what had happened with her family, but still…
She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth, but she wasn’t going to take them back. She knew it was too late to do so, and she really didn’t want to. “I don’t want to do this with you Gaara. I enjoy your company too much to sour it with this kind of conversation.”
Yes, Nanao… when in doubt, go back to being polite…
Her eyes had caught the irritated expression, her own smoothing out to an even look. “Perhaps we should start over…”
So it had come to this. Honestly, Gaara hadn’t been expecting to be so surprised at her honesty, hadn’t imagined seeing the most unfamiliar streak of red crossing his vision with her semi-terse, directly-to-the-point statements. But the astonishment was there, the slight clenching in his fists. Maybe if he left now and ran he’d make it to class. Leave this alone. Yet, it was just a false hope because it wouldn’t matter what he did NOW if it wasn’t solved.
Start over? It’d be so much easier, and that admittance almost slipped from his mouth before he bit down on his tongue to keep it at bay.
“If you think it’s necessary,” was all he muttered in return, demeanor sliding back into reluctant nonchalance. Safe. Don’t be stupid, Gaara. But maybe it was already too late for that.
With his words, she saw the chill slip back down over him. “It’s not just my decision.” She shot a pointed look at the open door behind him. “Should we go sit down somewhere? Unless you’d prefer not to.” Polite again. She forced herself not to fidget, because she didn’t do things like that anymore. That was left behind as well.
Mostly.
She shifted her feet slightly along the smoothed over floor, toes absently rubbing.
If given the choice, Gaara would have preferred standing where he was, hands sliding from the chaotic push of his hair to fall almost lifelessly against his sides, but from the semi-edgy form of her body, the way her feet betrayed what she was actually thinking --something about him, about this situation?-- he knew Nanao wanted to leave the stairwell. And though he didn’t have a problem with it, not worried if people overheard or not, made whatever speculations they thought they had the right to make, Gaara perceived that most affairs as trying as this should be taken elsewhere.
A smaller tilt of his head. The slightest of smiles, though a bit forced. Not that she could have deciphered such an expression on Gaara’s face.
“We can go in.” There. As little agitation presented as possible. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She relaxed marginally, knowing she’d won a slight victory. She stepped closer to the door (and Gaara) then paused. After a moment, she shook her head and walked to the open door. “It’s your place. I’m not going in first.” A silly thing, really, but that was just how she was raised.
Her arms pulled up, crossing over her chest as she watched him evenly.
The decision rested with him.
Gaara couldn’t determine what Nanao was currently thinking, what he was thinking --hadn't he always been good at that?-- but it somehow seemed to settle on those common courtesies he’d long since decided to ignore. A deep-seated habit he couldn’t shake himself of despite reality’s demand to heed its frivolous call. He felt his mouth thinning into an even tighter line, the damp cling of his hair itching his forehead as he glanced at her with hooded turquoise eyes.
His thoughts were still unclear, clouded with that heavy annoyance known as confusion. Gaara hated it, wished he could crawl back into that familiar security blanket of no acquaintances and homework. Indecision when required to make a decision just never worked.
“You first. I insist.” He also hated playing the host, hated pretending there was nothing between them when there had been something, and his stubborn demeanor refused to stop pushing. Skipping class. Confronting her. It was turning out to be the best day of his life.
There were times that manners were highly overrated. Now was one of those times, in Nanao's opinion. She knew that, no matter the small victory she'd won, he'd just scored as well. This is NOT a game, she reminded herself internally, shrugging gracefully. Bare feet could barely be heard as she started walking to the door, intent on crossing the threshold (and trying to win yet another victory).
Her mind wandered as she stepped closer, her face still carrying an even expression. One of the first things to pop to the forefront was her recent times spent with Hayate; their many conversations. The thoughts brought an unconscious smile to her face. She found it slightly bothersome that she was thinking of someone else when she was spending time with Gaara, but she couldn't help it… She'd caught herself comparing the two men at odd times; not ever meaning to.
Her tentative steps leading her closer to him only seemed to heighten that strange, mindless disease Gaara was suffering from, shifting his moods from positive highs to direct opposites without warning, and he was frowning again. The expression couldn’t have been mistaken for anything else, not with the slight furrow of his forehead, the strained grit of his teeth as he stared at her, eyes hard, and Gaara didn’t know why he felt so angry. Her sudden smile, the lack of reply after insisting she enter the apartment. Those certainly couldn’t have been it. That was too naïve, too childish, too…selfish.
But if Gaara had been thinking clearly, he would have realized such qualities had always been part of his makeup. The ambiguity shouldn’t have existed.
Ever examining, he shortened the space between them, effectively blocking Nanao from the entrance to the open door, backpack disturbingly light upon his shoulders. He didn’t know what he was doing, nothing at all, and Gaara couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever been this aggressive or assertive around her. There’d always been the nerves, the quiet glances that spoke volumes of vague emotion. Softly spoken words.
But the words he spoke now weren’t soft at all. They were cool, demanding.
“Are we playing a game, Nanao?” And inside, he was shaking to the core.
Nanao froze, not quite two feet from Gaara. She shot him a look, some odd mix of concern and… irritation? “I don’t play games, Gaara. I never have.” Her eyes bored into a point on the wall next to Gaara, something away… Why does she allow him to maneuver her into places like this? What does he think he’s doing anyway? She was only trying to be nice, trying to return something to him that was his… he had no right to speak to her so…
She straightened slowly, never taking her eyes off of the spot on the wall. “No, Gaara. This is no game… I’m sorry.” There. The curtain of politeness was back down, back between them, perhaps where it should’ve stayed in the first place. She wasn’t the weak young woman that had asked him to kiss her before trying to run back to daddy with her tail between her legs. No, she wasn’t the same anymore. She bowed her head in a stiff gesture and sidestepped away. “I appreciate you loaning me the books. Thank you.”
Everything about her, from her words to her gestures to the expression written on her hidden face, told him Nanao was attempting to run away. Somehow, someway, it only fueled the mysterious well of unfathomable irritation building slowly under his skin, threatening to push him over that inconceivable edge he’d always been able to avoid. Perhaps Gaara had tried too hard to keep his control locked tightly around it, forcing it at bay time and time again so nothing drastic or deadly would happen. Perhaps he’d just grown tired of what this game she said they weren’t playing was. Perhaps…
He was moving to block her path again before anything else registered in his brain, a warning flashing but nothing there to witness it or put his actions to a stop. And Gaara’s voice was even colder, twisted and defining in his question as he spoke.
“This isn’t about books, Nanao.” Lips pressed thin, eyes even more narrowed to gaze at her. A shield. It was only a shield because he didn’t know why and couldn’t slow down. “If it’s not a game, what is it?”
Gaara wasn’t going to let her leave, and to keep her there, with him and not flee as he sensed she would have done had he allowed her the opportunity, fingers moved to grasp her wrist. Not tightly, not roughly. Just firm enough to keep her standing.
Her hand automatically tried to move, to pull away, but his grip was surprisingly strong. She allowed her arm to relax, but she kept her side to him, unwilling to look him in the eyes. “I have no idea what you mean, Gaara.” She didn’t figure he’d take that for an answer, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Her head tilted and her eyes locked on her hand, the slim wrist held so firmly in his.
“If it isn’t about books, then what’s it about? You seem to have all the answers here.” Yes, she was treading on thinning ice, but she had no idea how thin it could be. At first, when she’d returned from her family’s home, she was still hurt from the sundering of her ties. He’d emailed her while she was gone, but when she was physically available to talk, he was nowhere to be seen.
Now she was back (and had been for some time,), ready to talk about the kiss they’d shared. But when she was ready, he was gone. Disappeared. So she’d assumed he had no desire to pursue anything with her, be it friendship, or something more. She’d willingly pulled away, and had quite serendipitously stumbled on something that didn’t send the almost cold shivers down her spine; didn’t entice her and scare her at the same time…
“Gaara…” She stopped and shook her head, still facing away, giving another tug.
No. Things weren’t going to turn out like this, his mind argued. Living in a constant state of confused, sometimes misguided emotion just was not him. Gaara didn’t rely on others, didn’t rely on such useless things to get him by -he never had, never would- but something about her, about Nanao refused to leave him in peace. If his personality was one to point fingers, he would have first blamed it on his brother. How pushy and obstinate, self-centered and brash Kankurou could be rubbing off on him until he no longer cared about anything at all. Would have blamed his sibling’s reckless behavior, those forbidden incidents in his bedroom and the bathroom.
Blamed whatever had awakened after lying dormant for so long inside him.
Yet, nothing was ever that simple, couldn’t be solved with childish cries of “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.” Gaara didn’t think like that, would never even think to do something so naïve. But now, no longer unable to push his uncertainty about her and him and him away, fight it with those vague words, staring looks, and retaliated invisibility, he was. Resting everything on an emotion he could never remember being part of him.
He’d lost. Was losing it still.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, Nanao,” he bit out, fingers reflexively squeezing even tighter against her wrist, space disappearing completely as he moved closer. His other hand, trembling and shaking with the pent-up frustration and confusion battling the fiercest of wars beneath his skin, reached up to cup her jaw. Again firmly, not enough to bruise, couldn’t possibly do something like that, and he forced her to look at him, speculative and shaking. He wanted this over, now, and Gaara wasn’t about to let her go, allow her to walk down those steps and hide in her apartment, hide from him.
Gaara tried to take a calming breath but found he just didn’t have it in him anymore. He was tired of quiet and composed. Patient.
“What’s this about? If it isn’t a game, what are we doing?” His voice was a soft whisper, full of cold reality, and finally exposed, inquiring what he’d just taken for granted as it came, Gaara didn’t want to understand why. Why here and now. Why he was touching her, felt like it’d just be easier to quit. Why he wanted to kiss her again, push her against the wall and make her stay. Why everything.
And Gaara was broken.
Part one of two.
The rain had left a musty smell in the air, heavy with that odd scent of freshly turned earth. Frankly, the smell was making Nanao’s head ache. She’d finally finished her laundry after battling with the machine; finally got everything folded and hung and put up. Now she was left with few options. Television… no… Nothing on. I could write, I suppose… She eyed her pen, resting on top of her journal and felt absolutely nothing she wanted to write about.
“Well, I suppose I could read.” She wandered over to the bookshelf and ran her fingers over the spines of all the books, smiling as she felt all the indentations. Her hand moved steadily along the books until it reached a pile not familiar. Not her own.
She’d been meaning to return them to him for a while now. “Well. No time like the present… maybe this is why he hasn’t been talking to me.” Nanao carefully pulled the books out and settled them next to the door, then padded back to her room. She pulled on an old loose sweatshirt over her tank top and grabbed the books on her way out.
Bare feet hurried up the stairs, stopping in front of Apartment 8, where she bent down to set the books by the door.
In ten minutes, he was going to be late.
At first, Gaara’s set schedule had been perfectly organized as he’d been well-prepared for class, had enough time to shower before he needed to be out the door and down the street towards the university. However, certain things had not been accounted for in his hurrying to get ready. Like slipping in the shower and colliding with the wall. Or the fact he’d misplaced his keys and had to spend several minutes searching for them until he’d found them under a pile of t-shirts he hadn’t bothered to pick up. Then there’d been the accident in the kitchen with a glass of chocolate milk, the counter covered in a lovely shade of pale brown until he’d found a towel to sop up the mess.
Wet strands of red hair still damp from his shower clinging to the nape of his neck and backpack slung lopsidedly over one shoulder, Gaara wrestled with his shoes before opening up the door to rush out into the hall. He hadn’t expected the sight that greeted him, hadn’t been expecting it at all. Stopping short of almost running over the woman bending over to place books beside the door, Gaara blinked turquoise eyes at her.
He hadn’t seen her in the longest time, hadn’t spoken with her because…
“Nanao?” Gaara couldn’t think of anything else to say, suddenly (and strangely) tongue-tied.
Loose braids flopped over her shoulders as she looked up at the sudden appearance. “Oh. Good afternoon, Gaara. I was just returning these,” she murmured as she straightened. One eyebrow rose at his appearance, lingering on the still damp hair. “I finally finished them. Thank you for letting me borrow them.” Her hands slipped under the overly long sweatshirt, the action bunching it up at her waist, her hands moving to slide into her pockets. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it today. I hope it gets better for you.” She flashed a slight smile at him and turned, intending to head back downstairs.
Lips pressed thin at her remarkably formal words and abrupt retreat to return to her apartment, previously loose hands clenching and unclenching, sliding through damp hair, and clenching again. Did everyone enjoy tormenting him with confusion? It made him mentally restless, unable to concentrate on the simplest of things --was that the reason he’d become so absentminded and clumsy as of late?-- and Gaara’s gaze narrowed at Nanao’s back as she retreated.
Perhaps he was just a little naïve at not understanding her sudden turn of personality, why she’d seemed to distance herself from him. Granted, he wasn’t the most approachable of people, had the hugest problem with speaking what he actually thought rather than some twisted conundrum that hardly made any sense. Yet…
“I’m fine,” he forced himself to speak, walking quickly to catch up with her, stop her with a gentle grab of her wrist. Gaara had never been overly touchy when it came to others, but as of late, the smallest bit of contact seemed to help him connect, held him fast to reality. “How’ve you been?”
It really didn’t register that the middle of the second floor hallway wasn’t a very appropriate place to be having such a conversation, but Gaara had never been one to think of such trifles.
She stopped in her tracks when she felt the hand close around her wrist, messy braids flying as she turned to face him. The polite smile was still on her lips, barely reaching her eyes. “I’ve been good. I got a new job, so I’m not working at the café anymore.” The smile grew as she thought of her luck lately. “Really, working at the college library is perfect for me.”
The glasses had slid almost all the way off of her nose, but she ignored them as she stood before Gaara, her wrist still circled by his hand. She was glad to see him, but she could tell something was… different.
“How’ve you been?”
Really, by now she should know not to ask. Most of the time, he wouldn’t tell her.
There was certainly something peculiar and off-key to her expression, the way she looked at him without really seeming particularly happy. Her smile --still lovely and capable of making his heart beat right out of his chest-- appeared forced, her eyes unreflecting of the emotion she tried to persuade him with, and Gaara’s once again neutral demeanor edged into a frown. Most of the time, his observation of people and their body language, how to read them without coming across so obviously wasn’t so inconvenient, but at that moment, it was probably the worst trait for him to possess.
In noticing the slip of those glasses down her nose and the braids in her hair, Gaara also wanted to utter that word he’d thought in reference to Shuuhei the day before. But Nanao wasn’t cute. She was something ethereal, something…beautiful.
And Gaara blinked in shock at the blatant reverie, dropping his gaze down to stare at the wrist he held as he attempted processing her question. But all he could think was Don’t look suspicious. It’s not like you.
“I decided to skip my class today,” he muttered quietly, feeling uncharacteristically stupid with such a response. The weight of his backpack on his shoulder suddenly seemed much heavier.
One eyebrow climbed at his declaration. “Why would you have your backpack then?” She flicked her eyes to the strap visibly weighing down his shoulder. With a soft chuckle, she shook her head. “You should go put it up… it’s not good to weigh down one side so much… causes stress.” After her head stopped moving, her eyes feel on her captured wrist. The smile softened even more, almost fond.
“I didn’t ask what you were doing… I asked how you were. I’ve missed talking to you.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a murmur.
Of course he wasn’t going to tell her that skipping class was an immediate decision based solely upon the fact he’d run into her on his way out the door less than ten minutes before it had been due to start. So, in answer to that particular statement regarding his backpack, Gaara merely lifted his opposite shoulder --the one free of the bag’s strap-- in a shrug and released the hold he had on her. He knew he was doing it again, withdrawing back into that protected little shell of thoughts where no one could accessibly reach him, but it wasn’t as if he was doing it on purpose. Not with Nanao.
Old, ingrained habits were so terribly hard to alter, even if he wanted to.
“I’ve missed talking to you.” He’d have smiled at such a thing, would have replied with “And I’ve missed listening.”, but nothing relatively close to that happened or was spoken. Gaara took a step back, inhaling her appearance with a quick flick of his eyes, the bare state of her feet, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, hair sliding from the typically concealed plane of faint scarring existing there on his forehead. He didn’t notice but for the faint chill coursing down his spine.
“The same as always. I…” And then his brain did something completely unexpected. It shut down. Without permission.
Lips moved of their own accord. “Are you angry with me, Nanao?”
It was a question she hadn’t expected. She allowed her hands to drop to her sides, held loosely open as she mentally turned his words over. Slowly, her head shook, dislodging her glasses even more. She pushed them back up with an impatient sigh and looked Gaara straight on, meeting his look with a serious one of her own. “I was… but I’m not now. This whole time, I’ve been asking myself the same question…”
She didn’t feel self conscious under his gaze. Not like before. She’d settled many things in her life by returning, left a weaker Nanao behind with the past. “Why would you ask me that, Gaara? Think that?”
Good one, Gaara.
Silently, after he’d managed to kick start his mind from the malfunctioning mess it momentarily had been, he was ridiculing himself. How had such a thing escaped his thoughts, much less formed a verbal sound and slid off his tongue? And she had been angry at him? For what? When? Why? Gaara comprehended nothing but the naivety of his own actions as he’d always acted little upon the knowledge that others were not like him. They needed those useless extras like kind looks, frequent touches, and murmured explanations.
Though Nanao didn’t appear to be as overly co-dependent on such things, Gaara would give her something. Something because he didn’t have words for what she still made him feel, the differences between her and him --God, him-- driving him absolutely insane. He had no idea how to decide, where to even begin.
So he opened his mouth.
“I just thought you were.” No, not good enough. But he couldn’t go any further than that. “I suppose I should apologize.”
And strangely, Gaara abruptly felt sick to his stomach.
Her hair bobbed as she shook her head again. "There's no need for an apology. Not between…"
Between what? Friends? Something else?
"Not between us." She finally looked at Gaara, really looked at him. "So, why are you skipping class?" Yes, it was a basic question, but she really didn't know what else to say to him. I can't believe I'm asking him that.
She'd been confused by his distance, but she'd decided to allow him space if he wanted. When she came back from dealing with her family, she knew she was in no shape to deal with anything. Perhaps she'd been distracted, but once she'd settled in with no word from him, she figured he had no desire to talk to her again.
The slight hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Of course not. He was Gaara, capable of picking up on the most redundant of things and twisting them so they leveled with whatever he was thinking at the moment. It made it easier to pretend, to step away when he didn’t have the need or feel or want to do anything like…this. This and the whatever not between them. There should have been more thought put into what he was going to say to her, how he should have addressed her accordingly so things didn’t seem out of place, irregular, but time waited for no one, especially someone as ridiculously foolish and stupid as Gaara.
Why can’t I think?!
“I’m indulging in conversation,” he answered thoughtlessly, running a hand through the wet mess of his hair and wondering how chaotic he appeared. Nanao seemed perfectly content and lovely as she was --even with her braided hair messily adorning her face, her bare feet and sweater. And then, Gaara’s mouth twisted into a semi-obvious frown. Since when had he started paying attention to things like that, appearance and how others perceived him? Something was definitely wrong, but he didn’t know. Didn’t know like all those times before.
“I said you didn’t have to bother returning them.” A vague statement, Gaara knew, but he didn’t want to risk saying anything else. There was the momentary underlying insinuation in the back of his mind he wasn’t speaking of the books, just couldn’t phrase what he was talking about any other way, but he shook it loose with a quick turn of his head. Better to not wonder at all.
The sight of his frown caused her cautious smile to slip a fraction, obviously concerned. “You don’t usually indulge in conversation, Gaara…” A shiver ran over her, her toes twisting under as if they were suddenly chilled. She poked at the books with her foot, barely nudging them. “It wasn’t a bother. I appreciated it.” She left the subject silent, hoping he’d understand just how much she did appreciate what he’d done for her.
Everything he’d done.
She glanced around the hallway, glad it was empty. She didn’t like the idea of this conversation taking place in such… open air. “Did you want to stay out here to talk? I’m getting a bit hot… “ She absently plucked at the ragged hem of her sweatshirt, hoping to get some air under it, even if the hallway in the building was stifling.
His guise must have been terribly easy for Nanao to see through for her to make such a blatant statement about his conversing skills or lack thereof rather. Couldn’t he just turn around, shut the door, and hide in himself like he usually did? Not even bother with the PC in his room because that was also a connection to everything he just didn’t want to really explain. What was the point, anyway? Was there one? Gaara would have blamed someone --Kankurou, Shuuhei, Nanao, maybe himself-- if he’d ever been one to point fingers.
But that wasn’t how he worked, what made him Gaara. It never really had, although, at this moment, he was having difficulty defining himself and making it believable.
What am I doing? He really wanted to know.
“Perhaps I don’t, but I am at the moment,” he began softly, once against running his hand through his hair. It was sticking to his fingers and wasn’t the most wonderful texture to deal with. “If you wanted to come in…” Carefully indicating the still open apartment door, he hadn’t bothered closing it as he’d been more intent on stopping Nanao from walking back down the steps, Gaara wondered if she would accept the invitation. A second time asking her into his sanctuary, a second time with everything.
Maybe he should have given up thinking permanently because it certainly wasn’t helping him at all. Not now. Not with her.
An invitation?
She glanced at the open door, then back to the redhead. “I don’t want to disturb you… even if you’re skipping class. I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing.” He’d made that perfectly clear in his absence since she’d returned, or so she thought. She shrugged, the wide neck of the old sweatshirt sliding away from her neck, showing the thin strap of her tank top. “You know I like talking to you, Gaara. I just didn’t think you wanted to talk to me anymore.”
Her brain had stopped working, but her mouth had kept going. She hated it when it did that.
It was as if all the problems he’d ever had when attempting to convince someone otherwise --to trust him, ignore his overly cryptic behavior-- had made a complete reverse in his head, somehow angering him. This was partly why he avoided trying to explain, why he preferred watching and only saying what he deemed necessary to say. The volley of their words, how they seemed to avoid one another so easily was unnerving, bothered some internal part of him he hadn’t realized existed until recently, and it did nothing but prod hostility, the planes of his face, usually so stoic and cool, calm to those that happened to glance his way, fading into a semblance of irritation. Gaara bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to push it away because he really didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t know what to do if this annoyance gripped him to the point he wouldn’t be able to control it.
Control was a necessity he refused to be without.
“You’re not bothering me.” How many times had he said that to her? How many times had he meant it? Was his voice tinged with the slightest hint of pessimism? Gaara thought it might have been. “And why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”
Yes. That steady confinement he’d so proudly been able to keep hold of was starting to crack, and he had no idea why.
“Perhaps the fact that you haven’t. That’s an indication, usually.” Yes, her tone was a bit short, but she didn’t notice. She’d been bothered that he hadn’t spoken to her since she’d returned. Granted, that wasn’t as difficult as what had happened with her family, but still…
She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth, but she wasn’t going to take them back. She knew it was too late to do so, and she really didn’t want to. “I don’t want to do this with you Gaara. I enjoy your company too much to sour it with this kind of conversation.”
Yes, Nanao… when in doubt, go back to being polite…
Her eyes had caught the irritated expression, her own smoothing out to an even look. “Perhaps we should start over…”
So it had come to this. Honestly, Gaara hadn’t been expecting to be so surprised at her honesty, hadn’t imagined seeing the most unfamiliar streak of red crossing his vision with her semi-terse, directly-to-the-point statements. But the astonishment was there, the slight clenching in his fists. Maybe if he left now and ran he’d make it to class. Leave this alone. Yet, it was just a false hope because it wouldn’t matter what he did NOW if it wasn’t solved.
Start over? It’d be so much easier, and that admittance almost slipped from his mouth before he bit down on his tongue to keep it at bay.
“If you think it’s necessary,” was all he muttered in return, demeanor sliding back into reluctant nonchalance. Safe. Don’t be stupid, Gaara. But maybe it was already too late for that.
With his words, she saw the chill slip back down over him. “It’s not just my decision.” She shot a pointed look at the open door behind him. “Should we go sit down somewhere? Unless you’d prefer not to.” Polite again. She forced herself not to fidget, because she didn’t do things like that anymore. That was left behind as well.
Mostly.
She shifted her feet slightly along the smoothed over floor, toes absently rubbing.
If given the choice, Gaara would have preferred standing where he was, hands sliding from the chaotic push of his hair to fall almost lifelessly against his sides, but from the semi-edgy form of her body, the way her feet betrayed what she was actually thinking --something about him, about this situation?-- he knew Nanao wanted to leave the stairwell. And though he didn’t have a problem with it, not worried if people overheard or not, made whatever speculations they thought they had the right to make, Gaara perceived that most affairs as trying as this should be taken elsewhere.
A smaller tilt of his head. The slightest of smiles, though a bit forced. Not that she could have deciphered such an expression on Gaara’s face.
“We can go in.” There. As little agitation presented as possible. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She relaxed marginally, knowing she’d won a slight victory. She stepped closer to the door (and Gaara) then paused. After a moment, she shook her head and walked to the open door. “It’s your place. I’m not going in first.” A silly thing, really, but that was just how she was raised.
Her arms pulled up, crossing over her chest as she watched him evenly.
The decision rested with him.
Gaara couldn’t determine what Nanao was currently thinking, what he was thinking --hadn't he always been good at that?-- but it somehow seemed to settle on those common courtesies he’d long since decided to ignore. A deep-seated habit he couldn’t shake himself of despite reality’s demand to heed its frivolous call. He felt his mouth thinning into an even tighter line, the damp cling of his hair itching his forehead as he glanced at her with hooded turquoise eyes.
His thoughts were still unclear, clouded with that heavy annoyance known as confusion. Gaara hated it, wished he could crawl back into that familiar security blanket of no acquaintances and homework. Indecision when required to make a decision just never worked.
“You first. I insist.” He also hated playing the host, hated pretending there was nothing between them when there had been something, and his stubborn demeanor refused to stop pushing. Skipping class. Confronting her. It was turning out to be the best day of his life.
There were times that manners were highly overrated. Now was one of those times, in Nanao's opinion. She knew that, no matter the small victory she'd won, he'd just scored as well. This is NOT a game, she reminded herself internally, shrugging gracefully. Bare feet could barely be heard as she started walking to the door, intent on crossing the threshold (and trying to win yet another victory).
Her mind wandered as she stepped closer, her face still carrying an even expression. One of the first things to pop to the forefront was her recent times spent with Hayate; their many conversations. The thoughts brought an unconscious smile to her face. She found it slightly bothersome that she was thinking of someone else when she was spending time with Gaara, but she couldn't help it… She'd caught herself comparing the two men at odd times; not ever meaning to.
Her tentative steps leading her closer to him only seemed to heighten that strange, mindless disease Gaara was suffering from, shifting his moods from positive highs to direct opposites without warning, and he was frowning again. The expression couldn’t have been mistaken for anything else, not with the slight furrow of his forehead, the strained grit of his teeth as he stared at her, eyes hard, and Gaara didn’t know why he felt so angry. Her sudden smile, the lack of reply after insisting she enter the apartment. Those certainly couldn’t have been it. That was too naïve, too childish, too…selfish.
But if Gaara had been thinking clearly, he would have realized such qualities had always been part of his makeup. The ambiguity shouldn’t have existed.
Ever examining, he shortened the space between them, effectively blocking Nanao from the entrance to the open door, backpack disturbingly light upon his shoulders. He didn’t know what he was doing, nothing at all, and Gaara couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever been this aggressive or assertive around her. There’d always been the nerves, the quiet glances that spoke volumes of vague emotion. Softly spoken words.
But the words he spoke now weren’t soft at all. They were cool, demanding.
“Are we playing a game, Nanao?” And inside, he was shaking to the core.
Nanao froze, not quite two feet from Gaara. She shot him a look, some odd mix of concern and… irritation? “I don’t play games, Gaara. I never have.” Her eyes bored into a point on the wall next to Gaara, something away… Why does she allow him to maneuver her into places like this? What does he think he’s doing anyway? She was only trying to be nice, trying to return something to him that was his… he had no right to speak to her so…
She straightened slowly, never taking her eyes off of the spot on the wall. “No, Gaara. This is no game… I’m sorry.” There. The curtain of politeness was back down, back between them, perhaps where it should’ve stayed in the first place. She wasn’t the weak young woman that had asked him to kiss her before trying to run back to daddy with her tail between her legs. No, she wasn’t the same anymore. She bowed her head in a stiff gesture and sidestepped away. “I appreciate you loaning me the books. Thank you.”
Everything about her, from her words to her gestures to the expression written on her hidden face, told him Nanao was attempting to run away. Somehow, someway, it only fueled the mysterious well of unfathomable irritation building slowly under his skin, threatening to push him over that inconceivable edge he’d always been able to avoid. Perhaps Gaara had tried too hard to keep his control locked tightly around it, forcing it at bay time and time again so nothing drastic or deadly would happen. Perhaps he’d just grown tired of what this game she said they weren’t playing was. Perhaps…
He was moving to block her path again before anything else registered in his brain, a warning flashing but nothing there to witness it or put his actions to a stop. And Gaara’s voice was even colder, twisted and defining in his question as he spoke.
“This isn’t about books, Nanao.” Lips pressed thin, eyes even more narrowed to gaze at her. A shield. It was only a shield because he didn’t know why and couldn’t slow down. “If it’s not a game, what is it?”
Gaara wasn’t going to let her leave, and to keep her there, with him and not flee as he sensed she would have done had he allowed her the opportunity, fingers moved to grasp her wrist. Not tightly, not roughly. Just firm enough to keep her standing.
Her hand automatically tried to move, to pull away, but his grip was surprisingly strong. She allowed her arm to relax, but she kept her side to him, unwilling to look him in the eyes. “I have no idea what you mean, Gaara.” She didn’t figure he’d take that for an answer, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Her head tilted and her eyes locked on her hand, the slim wrist held so firmly in his.
“If it isn’t about books, then what’s it about? You seem to have all the answers here.” Yes, she was treading on thinning ice, but she had no idea how thin it could be. At first, when she’d returned from her family’s home, she was still hurt from the sundering of her ties. He’d emailed her while she was gone, but when she was physically available to talk, he was nowhere to be seen.
Now she was back (and had been for some time,), ready to talk about the kiss they’d shared. But when she was ready, he was gone. Disappeared. So she’d assumed he had no desire to pursue anything with her, be it friendship, or something more. She’d willingly pulled away, and had quite serendipitously stumbled on something that didn’t send the almost cold shivers down her spine; didn’t entice her and scare her at the same time…
“Gaara…” She stopped and shook her head, still facing away, giving another tug.
No. Things weren’t going to turn out like this, his mind argued. Living in a constant state of confused, sometimes misguided emotion just was not him. Gaara didn’t rely on others, didn’t rely on such useless things to get him by -he never had, never would- but something about her, about Nanao refused to leave him in peace. If his personality was one to point fingers, he would have first blamed it on his brother. How pushy and obstinate, self-centered and brash Kankurou could be rubbing off on him until he no longer cared about anything at all. Would have blamed his sibling’s reckless behavior, those forbidden incidents in his bedroom and the bathroom.
Blamed whatever had awakened after lying dormant for so long inside him.
Yet, nothing was ever that simple, couldn’t be solved with childish cries of “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.” Gaara didn’t think like that, would never even think to do something so naïve. But now, no longer unable to push his uncertainty about her and him and him away, fight it with those vague words, staring looks, and retaliated invisibility, he was. Resting everything on an emotion he could never remember being part of him.
He’d lost. Was losing it still.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, Nanao,” he bit out, fingers reflexively squeezing even tighter against her wrist, space disappearing completely as he moved closer. His other hand, trembling and shaking with the pent-up frustration and confusion battling the fiercest of wars beneath his skin, reached up to cup her jaw. Again firmly, not enough to bruise, couldn’t possibly do something like that, and he forced her to look at him, speculative and shaking. He wanted this over, now, and Gaara wasn’t about to let her go, allow her to walk down those steps and hide in her apartment, hide from him.
Gaara tried to take a calming breath but found he just didn’t have it in him anymore. He was tired of quiet and composed. Patient.
“What’s this about? If it isn’t a game, what are we doing?” His voice was a soft whisper, full of cold reality, and finally exposed, inquiring what he’d just taken for granted as it came, Gaara didn’t want to understand why. Why here and now. Why he was touching her, felt like it’d just be easier to quit. Why he wanted to kiss her again, push her against the wall and make her stay. Why everything.
And Gaara was broken.