The sun hung heavy over the dusty streets of Sunagakure, casting long shadows along the cracked stone walls. Most of the village's children had long since scattered after a day of playing — the echoes of their laughter fading quickly when the red-haired boy came near. Now, Gaara sat alone on the edge of a low wall, his small arms tightly wrapped around a battered teddy bear, the sand around his feet shifting as if alive with his emotions.

His pale green eyes stared down at the ground, distant and guarded, the ever-present gourd looming behind him like a second shadow. His loneliness was so heavy it felt like even the desert air sagged under it. No one dared approach him. Not after the whispers, not after the accidents.

Except — footsteps crunched through the sand.

He looked up sharply, alarmed. A figure approached, small like him but unafraid, their face open and curious instead of twisted in fear. Gaara blinked, wary. They weren't turning away. They weren't whispering. They weren't backing off like the others.

They simply stood there for a moment, studying him — or maybe the teddy bear he clutched so tightly. Gaara stiffened, expecting the familiar rejection. His heart beat loudly in his ears, his sand stirring subtly at his feet, ready to defend without thinking.

But the figure just sat down beside him on the wall — not too close, not too far — close enough to say, I'm not afraid of you.

Gaara stared, unsure what to do. His arms tightened around the teddy bear instinctively. The desert breeze picked up, lifting a few strands of his hair across his forehead, but still the figure stayed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Gaara’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face. Someone was near him — not because they had to be, but because they wanted to be. His grip on the bear loosened slightly. The sand settled.

He lowered his gaze, hiding the sudden, unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he thought.