The moon waxes. The moon waxes. The moon waxes and waxes and waxes and waxes until the white witch that lives in its maria comes down to the plains of the desert and reaches out with glowing fingers and strums the heartstrings of the world he loves.

Gaara hears the desert-song, bright love-song, each note a heartbeat, each verse a confession.

Heart is the weight of the world; heart is the drumming silence. Heart is being vulnerable; heart is the link that connects love and lips, the unfading smile through suffering, the sole thing that can be cut and cut and cut and cut but never killed.

His heart lives.

Chapter Eight

Silence suffuses the atmosphere and awareness suffuses the silence. Gaara's eyes never stray from the scroll Konoha's emissary has come to personally deliver. He is always none other than Nara Shikamaru.

Gaara is half-reading the words, half-feeling the silence. Something lives with an infant pulse, having barely been born, drifting back and forth and between. It ranges from sixty to one hundred beats a minute. He counts the beats with each flick of Temari's eyes, each stretch of Shikamaru's neck.

His own flesh throbs with an irregular rhythm to those beats, and what lives inside him is nothing but misshapen imitation of that organ. Thirteen, twenty six, fifty two, one hundred and four. Blood-limned, fire-licked, carved on his skin, kept for himself. Because he's had no one else to give his heart, no one else wanting to take the maimed thing that it is. Perhaps that is why he can now rip it out of his chest and scatter the broken pieces until everyone holds one in their hands. Whether they cut themselves on that little shard of love or not is their choice just as it is his choice to cut himself open for them. Another Konoha shinobi has taught him that.

Gaara's eyes rise from the scroll, flicker between Temari and Shikamaru, then settle on the latter. Silence thickens with intimations that are too intimate, and Shikamaru clears his throat. His features become tighter, his poise less languid. Nothing has gone unnoticed but it will go unspoken.

"Uzumaki Naruto." The name is full of strong consonants, airy vowels, slices of kinship, longing. "Has he returned to Konoha?"

It's out of context but warm and Gaara truly wants to know. If Shikamaru is surprised, it doesn't show.

"Not yet." Flat, though slightly drawling.

Shikamaru doesn't even shake his head, as if the motion requires more effort than he's willing to spend for trivialities, and Gaara returns on topic.

"Temari will escort you back to Konoha to finalize the details pertaining to the Chūnin exams. You may rest here tonight and depart tomorrow morning."

A twist of neck this time. Shikamaru almost bows his head, or at least as much as he deems enough to pass for a token of respect, gratitude. Temari takes charge then, leading him out of Gaara's office and to wherever she wants. Gaara doesn't much mind – Temari's decisions are hers to make and anyone who hurts her is his to slaughter – unlike someone else. Kankurō may have remained uninvolved so far, nothing more than quiet umbra behind Gaara's chair, but all that changes in an instant.

"Kankurō."

His brother is two seconds from exiting the room and following the pair when Gaara's voice arrests him mid-step. Kankurō pivots, and beneath the purple paint, Gaara notes the beginnings of petulance.

He merely stares at him.

"Really?" A pout, and tongue clicking. "Fine." A scowl, and teeth gnashing. "But if he dare-"

"You know he won't." And if he does, I'll deal with him.

The message is clear, impossible to miss.

Kankurō scoffs. "Only because he's too damn lazy." Still, he relents.

When he sits down, there's no sign of that petulance, only a dark-lined smile.

"I still remember what you said that day." Kankurō's chuckle is low but deep with meaning.

Gaara knows what will come next before it does.

"Kinda hard to forget. First time you ever smiled like that." It's almost as if he's coaxing that smile, wanting to see it again, and perhaps he is. "And look at you now, being where you said you'd be, where you should be."

There's a long pause, loaded with waiting and just smile, goddammit. Gaara keeps staring at his brother. His mouth doesn't move a millimeter. If he has to be honest, he does so because it amuses him. Kankurō sighs, his sigh brimming with the same qualities of that pause, and Gaara already knows what will come again.

"I'm proud of you, proud to be your brother, that you let me –"

"Kankurō." That smile. "I know."

"Well…good." Despite his brother's best efforts to appear slighted – because he can tell that Gaara has used him as fodder for his amusement when Kankurō is the one to be serious for once – his grin betrays him. "Don't you forget now."

A/N: Canon takes it from here. My intention was to explore those dark years between Konoha's crush and Akatsuki's abduction that Kishimoto never touched, and this was my take. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. :)