The desert wind was sharp that evening, carrying fine grains of sand that clung to everything it touched. Gaara walked alongside you, his usual silence wrapping the two of you in an odd sort of calm. Since you couldn’t see the dunes rolling endlessly around you, he always made sure to describe them in the simplest words, painting images with his quiet voice.

“Tonight, the sky is very clear,” he murmured. “The stars look as if they’ve been scattered across the sand itself.”

You smiled faintly at his words, fingers brushing against the gourd at his back for guidance rather than holding his arm—something you’d learned he appreciated. He didn’t like to appear fragile, and you respected that. Yet in small ways, Gaara always looked out for you. His sand shifted beneath your feet, steadying loose patches so you wouldn’t stumble. He never spoke of it, but you could feel the soft thrum of chakra around your steps.