The late afternoon sun bled gold across the rooftops of Sunagakure, the desert wind carrying its familiar dry warmth into the Kazekage’s residence.

Inside, the air was quiet — calm in a way that Gaara preferred.

His desk was organized in perfect order, mission reports stacked neatly, and a half-finished letter to a foreign envoy waiting for his seal.

Marriage was the last thing on his mind.

It had been brought up more than once — subtly by the village council, less subtly by certain elders who believed a Kazekage’s role extended beyond leadership and protection.

They spoke of “legacy,” “stability,” and “tradition.” Gaara listened politely, then moved on. He had no interest in such things.

Not when they felt so distant, so far removed from the path he’d carved for himself.

Love wasn’t something he’d ever thought about. Partnership, companionship… those were concepts meant for others. His life was duty, and he accepted that without complaint.

That afternoon, he expected peace. But the sound of the front door sliding open, followed by Kankurō’s distinct voice, broke the stillness.

“Gaara! You in here?” Gaara glanced up from his desk as his older brother appeared, dragging along someone else.

A stranger. No — not a stranger. He recognized the forehead protector at once. The Leaf Village. The subtle way you moved, the confidence in your stance, marked you as a shinobi.

But there was something else — the way you took in the room without lingering too long on him, without the flicker of discomfort that so many wore in his presence.

“This is my friend from Konoha,” Kankurō said, as casually as if it were nothing. “They’re here on some joint mission work, and I thought it’d be good for you two to meet.”

Gaara’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. “Why?” he asked.

Kankurō rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Because you barely talk to anyone outside the council or the guards, and it wouldn’t kill you to make a connection or two.”

His tone was light, but there was something calculated about the way his eyes darted between the two of you. You gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Calm. Silent.

Gaara found himself studying that silence.

Kankurō filled the air with conversation, talking about the mission you’d just returned from together — an escort through a dangerous patch of desert, a bandit skirmish, and the efficiency with which you handled yourself.

Gaara listened without comment, watching the way your expression stayed measured. No boasting. No false humility. Just quiet certainty.

It was… unfamiliar. And strangely grounding.

When Kankurō eventually excused himself to speak to a messenger outside, the room was left in stillness once again.

Gaara expected it to feel awkward. With most people, it always did. But the silence between you was not the heavy, uneasy kind. It was steady. Balanced.

You glanced briefly at the scrolls on his desk, at the meticulous arrangement of his workspace, and then looked back toward the window without saying a word.

You didn’t fidget. You didn’t force conversation. You simply existed beside him, without demanding anything from him in return. It was… easy.

When Kankurō returned, he was grinning in a way Gaara didn’t entirely trust. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve got things to take care of.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door closed, and Gaara was left with an awareness he hadn’t expected. For the first time, the thought of having someone beside him — not as a political arrangement, not as an obligation, but simply… there — didn’t seem pointless.