Archive of Our Own

On the day the deft hands of fate distributed proprioception and combat skill, Gaara of the Sand was probably at the forefront of the queue, together with a few other notable shinobi of great caliber.

Sadly, such a prestigious position in that peculiar queue meant that he lost a great deal of other opportunities, first of them all: social skills. Second of them all: emotional intuition. Third of them all: overall ability to read the room. These three things were probably all interconnected, and he couldn’t hope to compensate for his losses in one of them with the other two – Gaara surrendered from a young age to being considered socially daft until the end of his (hopefully long) life as Kazekage.

It is because of all this that he ends up sitting between Sasuke Uchiha and Rock Lee at Naruto Uzumaki’s wedding. Kankuro has dropped him there with a thumbs up, telling him not to drink too little (wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?), to have fun, and not to move too much. Even if Gaara had it in himself to disagree, he simply finds it easy to stay there, surrounded by the other two people that were probably reserved the same treatment as his by the “deft hands of fate”.

Sasuke Uchiha keeps taking small sips of his sake and has given up on any semblance of enjoyment at least two hours ago. One hour ago he left briefly, just to take one half full bottle of sake and put it on the closest table, to make for easier refills.

On the other hand, Rock Lee has drunk two beers a while ago and now he takes turns between falling asleep sitting in his chair and loudly jumping awake, standing up on the chair itself and shouting about the springtime of youth, about love, and many other honorable thoughts about Naruto and Hinata’s marvelous relationship. Sometimes another one of Naruto’s friends – the one with the byakugan that’s not Hinata – comes to check on him, and receives an armful of Lee, to which he loudly protests.

Gaara wonders why he keeps coming back, given all his complaining. But then again that may very well be one of the reasons why he’s socially inept.

“No, Sakura, we’re fine.” Sakura Haruno appears sometimes, too. She delicately places one hand on the Uchiha’s face, asking rapid-fire questions to which Sasuke answers with: no Sakura, yes Sakura, yes I’m sure, no we’re fine, or slight variations on the theme. It’s nice of Sasuke, to say we, like they’re an actual group of people that has formed during this happy gathering and not a bunch of semi-strangers put together just to minimize the damage that, individually, they’d infer on the ceremony.

Silence falls once again as the woman leaves them. Gaara revels in the murmur of the crowd, thinks that it could be six hours of this and he’d go back home considering all this a win.

“Bastard looks happy, huh.” Sasuke says suddenly, mouth hidden by the sake cup. It’s made of wood fired porcelain, the finest in the land of Earth, one of the tsuchikage’s gifts, though Gaara wonders how exactly it made its way to Sasuke Uchiha’s hands.

“It is his wedding day.” Gaara offers, dry as ever. He grimaces a little as he tries to think of something to add. The Uchiha snorts, leaves to refill his cup without another word. Lee lets out a mumble in his sleep, and Gaara looks at him for a long while as he waits for the other to return.

“He looked happier when I mangled his arm with the Chidori,” Sasuke says as he lets himself fall on the chair, careful with his sake. He sloshes it around weakly, cheeks red, it’s such a weird sight that Gaara has to look away and back to the crowd. Naruto is making the rounds, now temporarily separated from his newly appointed wife, and looks thoroughly drunk as he speaks with his friends. “But what do I know. I’ve been away for three years.”

The last time they interacted from such a short distance, it was when Sasuke Uchiha was a terrorist. Gaara thinks about it and, when he looks at this rude, grumpy twenty year old and remembers the soft lines of a desperate teenager, he feels sympathy.

“It’s not like somebody forced you to.” And he ruins it. Damn it, there must be something missing between his mouth and his brain. The Uchiha turns around to look at him, unimpressed, and lifts an elegant eyebrow.

“You’re weirdly funny, Lord Kazekage.” He announces, like a public notice, like it is a fact now set in stone, and Gaara can’t help but revel in the compliment, even if it does come from one of the outcasts. “Sorry I tried to kill you that one time.”

“Two times.”

Lee rises from the dead for approximately ten seconds – he mumbles something, and Gaara asks if he’s in need of anything.

“I’m just gonna sleep for a couple of minutes,” is Lee’s answer, and then he promptly faints again.

“So you think he looks happy?” Sasuke says in the quiet that stretches for a while shortly after, eyes set on his oldest friend.

Gaara stays silent. It would be too difficult, to explain that since he was filled to the brim with bijuu when he was born, there was no space at all for the ability to understand social cues. His opinion on the matter is at best useless and at worst completely off the mark. He is also pretty sure that Sasuke Uchiha decides whether someone’s input is interesting enough to listen or not by judging the first three words out of their mouth.

So he takes a gamble, and a sip from his own glass, trying to look nonchalant. The plum wine sticks pleasantly to his tongue and burns down his throat, sickly sweet, and he looks at Naruto again in the distance. He has found his wife again and is standing behind her, holding her hips gently over the heavy robes the woman’s wearing. His head rests on her shoulder as she speaks to one of the guests, and Hinata swats away Naruto’s hands with no ill intent. The man laughs.

“I’m sure we’ll see him smile like this again only on the day he becomes Hokage.”

He is, of course, comically wrong.

***

Gaara knows how he feels towards his closest, most precious friend. He has known for a while, since the day he opened his eyes on the battlefield of the war and thought: even if the world wasn’t coming to an end, even if the price for peace was Naruto’s life and only his, still I would wage war to protect him.

It’s also one of the reasons why he knows he can’t aim to be the best Kazekage that ever lived. Even if one doesn’t consider his terribly dark past, it’s unseemly for a shinobi of the sand to hold one of the leaf in such high regard, no matter how close and pleasant their relationship is now, after the war, when peace treaties have been signed and charged words of friendship have been exchanged.

He can’t aim to be the best Kazegake, but he can aim to be the one who strived for peace the most, the one who sought to protect and rebuild with better foundations. He can stand to be the kindest Kazekage – he has his armour to protect himself and his people from whoever sees this as a weakness instead of a virtue.

It’s unthinkable, of course, to let anybody know of his feelings.

He barely lets himself know, because he’s currently watching Naruto and Hinata exchange soft words of complicity, in the way only people who truly love and cherish each other can do, and his heart aches and breaks and whines a little. He stares openly at the way Hinata clings to her husband’s arm, giggling as he speaks something in her ear.

He can’t aim to be any of the things that make him burn with eagerness, really. But being a friend, that, he can do.

***

He never thought about it, not really. Which is strange, considering that every week he receives letter from his sister back in Konoha, in which she informs him of whatever wedding she’ll have to attend next, because Shikamaru is apparently a social butterfly (though without any desire to be one) and he knows everybody in the village.

Ino said I should consider buying a new dress because I’ve already attended two weddings with the same one and it’s time to change it up. She says if I don’t have a different one for hers, she won’t invite me. My idiot husband is right for once: women are troublesome, at least in Konoha.

Gaara always laughs silently at her acrimony, but he never notices that everybody his age is getting married, until the Council brings it up. After all, every respectable man must take a wife, especially if he is part of the kage clan.

That much is true, the only problem is that Gaara never considered himself to be particularly man, no more than he had considered himself to be a boy when he was younger. Gaara thinks of many topics as incredibly convoluted and difficult to navigate, but he never had any qualms about his own identity: he was part human, part bijuu, and it felt wrong to be considered anything but that.

When he hadn’t been bijuu anymore he never thought to reason about his nature, and then again it definitely wasn’t a priority. So Gaara finds himself at twenty years of age with some peculiar questions in the back of his head.

He doesn’t feel like a man more than he feels like a woman, which is to say he feels like neither: for this simple reason, it has never crossed his mind that, someday, the topic of marriage was bound to come out during one of the Council meetings. The world reverses on his head and he finds the sky under his feet and the ground above his head.

“Especially since your sister is getting married to a Konohanin, Lord Fifth. We cannot risk an offspring of Konoha to be the only heir in the clan of the Kazekage.”

Gaara tries his best not to look puzzled. He gathers his thoughts, takes a deep breath, interlaces his fingers together, and suddenly realizes that there’s no way he can get around the topic.

“I have no intention of taking a wife.”

On his left side, Kankuro lets out a loud snort. Taking a wife, it sounds so horrible already. The bad taste the words leave in his mouth does wonders to cover the immediate indignation that sparks at the table. He still hates these meetings, even after almost five years – there’s no way to please these people, most times. The voices cover one another, raising more and more in intensity, until a headache starts to nag him between his eyes.

On his part, he stays silent and unmoving, the way some prey does, hoping to go unnoticed.

***

Shikadai is born on a wonderful day at the beginning of autumn, the perfect gift just a day after his father’s birthday. When he sees him for the first time, all rumpled up and angry on his mother’s breast, Gaara can’t help but think he looks disgruntled and, frankly, a little ugly.

Shikamaru starts crying halfway through the thing and doesn’t look like he wants to stop, not even when Temari sobers up enough to tease him through and through, calling him crybaby and all. They look radiant, with their crabby and displeased son held between them as a token of joy, and somehow even Kankuro, who’s always rough and churlish and doesn’t look like one who would care much about a thing as small as this baby, breaks down at last. Gaara looks at the scarce tears that make their way through his purple face paint and thinks that it’s peculiar.

Eventually, he gets Shikadai in his hands. He’s not thrilled about it, he’d rather hold paperwork, peace treaties, hell, he’d rather hold a weapon - that thought shocks him a little, because it can’t be true, can it? Children are the representation of peace, the embodiment of it all. He should cherish them after all the hard work he did and still does as the Kazekage, and still he’s so scared he can’t even hold one in his arms without having a mild freak out.

“C’mon, Gaara,” Temari nudges him, smiling softly at her son. Just like Kankuro’s tears, he’s rarely seen that kind of smile. “You won’t drop him, just stop fidgeting!”

But Shikadai is so very small, and his little head rests on the hard cloth of Gaara’s uniform without a care in the world, and somehow he isn’t scared of dropping him as much as him suddenly disappearing, small as he is.

“I bet he can fit in just your hands.” Kankuro snorts, watching from his side. Gaara looks at him with terror on his face.

“Kankuro, what…?”

They all laugh at his disbelief. Kankuro pats his back as he does when he wants to say he cares, and squeezes his shoulder, crowding him and the baby.

“See, he’s so tiny,” he says, holding a finger out to trace Shikadai’s little ear. “You could hold him in two hands only, maybe even just one of mine.” He spreads a hand, comparing it to the wholeness of Shikadai, and shrugs. “He really is a baby.”

“He was born like, five minutes ago. Cut him some slack.” Shikamaru grumbles without bite.

“Whatever, I’m just happy he didn’t get your big ears.”

Temari snorts at that but doesn’t defend her husband, Kankuro moves so he can argue with Shikamaru better. Gaara keeps looking at Shikadai, swaying on his feet, utterly terrified by the knowledge that he has a whole person in his arms, and that now his sister and friend don’t live for themselves anymore, but as a shadow of this brand new human being.

Of course he’s seen babies and kids and children before, running along in Suna, cheering and laughing out loud, strong and carefree and subconsciously certain that they’d be protected should harm come to their door. It’s another thing, though, to witness it so up close, how fragile and somehow unripe for life these things are – the simple thought of this baby needing constant attention and care for the next bunch of years is enough to make his blood freeze a little more.

“Time’s up, give me my son back,” Temari says, in her unkindly kind way of hers, spreading out her arms. He’s careful while handing him back, but Shikadai doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the whole ordeal.

“That was terrifying.” He announces once he’s back in his chair, which makes Kankuro howl with laughter, and Temari can’t hold back her cackling either.

“You’re always so dramatic about the most normal things.” Kankuro crosses his arms and relaxes against the back of his chair, looking fondly at the way the new parents coo over their sleeping son. “It’s just a baby, Gaara.”

Just a baby, he says. Gaara watches his family, and ponders.

 *** 

Naruto Uzumaki looks every bit like the father he is, Gaara realizes.

He didn’t notice it, before, the difference that marks Shikamaru’s happy, excited, easy smile – finally it’s done, the anxious days, the fretting over a woman that doesn’t want to be fretted over, the knowledge that he had to be ready to drop his work at any moment – and Naruto’s weary, tranquil one. They talk about it, because Gaara always makes an effort in having things to talk about besides his work and Naruto’s, and the other shinobi laughs loudly, saying that he’s right. Shikamaru has no idea what he’s going to face, Naruto says, so he may as well be chill and relaxed as long as he can.

“Boruto is a pest,” Naruto says, giving a fond look in the direction of the other room. Gaara has seen him in his arms earlier, and Boruto is so grown up already, the contrast made even more stark by the fact that he was holding a newborn baby just a few hours before. “He’s always crying out to be held, he can never sleep for too long by himself.”

Naruto’s smile is tender, warm, and Gaara has never seen a face like that on him. It feels personal, almost too intimate, and it makes him bite the inside of his cheek.

“It’s lucky that your studies keep you at home, then.”

“Yeah, but Kakashi wants me in the office often, now. He says I need to see.” Gaara understands, and knows. Despite studying for a long while, he was lucky to have Baki by his side for his first year as Kazekage. “Neji likes to help sometimes, and it’s so weird, it’s like babies have drugs in them or something. I’ve never seen him smile so much – but we can’t, like, drop a baby on him more than once a week, y’know. So I have to bring Boruto to the office with me. Can you imagine, me, with a baby strapped to my belly, singing a lullaby while we’re in meetings?”

Gaara can’t. He chuckles, it’s impossible not to. It’s when he hears things like these that he believes all that fighting was worth it, and even more the difficult negotiations for long-lasting peace that came immediately afterwards.

“So you and Hinata take turns on missions, I understand?”

Naruto nods and yawns, picking at a dent in the wood table.

“The system’s a little flawed,” he begins, and Gaara frowns, “parents don’t have financial support because wives are expected to stay at home with the children, full stop.” He grumbles a little. “But I want to stay with my kid too, damn it. And we can’t just… not take missions. I’ve always been, huh, poor as hell.” He laughs without much humor. “Hiashi- I mean, Hinata’s father wants to help and has offered time and again but she doesn’t really want it, and I understand, I guess.”

He makes a pause. Gaara thinks about his words for a while, but Naruto keeps speaking before he can voice his thoughts.

“I mean, no, I don’t really understand, because I don’t have a family and I guess I always thought that if you’re lucky enough to have one, you should be smart enough to keep it close and love each other, right?” He sighs and slaps one hand on the table. “But that’s not how it is. The Hyuuga are a complicated bunch. I understand half of the stuff they say to each other when we visit the compound.”

Gaara hums, bringing one hand to his chin. He’s been doing it so often now, Kankuro has started to tease him for it.

“I’m afraid that family is a complicated concept in itself. Perhaps that’s why people tend to try and choose theirs as best as they can, through partners and friends.”

Naruto stares at him for a while, thinking about something that Gaara is not privy to. He begins to wonder whether his words were out of place, because the other looks focused in an unusual way, one he hasn’t seen since the war ended.

Then, from the other room, Boruto wakes up with a start and a sob, and then come the crying and the wailing. Naruto shakes his head and stands up, dragging his hands on the hardwood of the table.

“There you have it, twenty minutes. This week’s record!” He laughs. “You’re right, by the way. I guess you just gotta be careful about who you choose.” Gaara doesn’t really understand the unusual weight behind his friend’s words. “Now, you wanna see how far up the wall Boruto throws his food?”

***

“I’m going to be a nukenin. I can’t stand this village anymore.”

“Ah,” Gaara lowers the book he’s reading, something about hydroponics and water savings in horticulture, “so they’ve pestered you too, again. Early today they came to me with another proposal.”

His brother never knocks when he enters Gaara’s apartment, but that’s not really needed, because his steps are heavy and his grunts are loud, especially when he’s displeased about something. Kankuro sits down on the couch next to him and exhales deeply.

“I swear, they get worse every time.” He says, taking off his hood. He crouches forward, taking his face in his hands. Gaara closes his book and looks at the ground, a little sad and, frankly, out of ideas. “Is it really an unprecedented situation, I don’t understand…”

“It’s not.” Gaara says with no inflection in his voice. “As you know, father and I were the exception, not the rule, in how the Kazekage is elected. There has never been a shortage of talent in the land of Wind and it makes no logical sense to deprive any unknown prodigy of the possibility of becoming Kazekage.” He shrugs, tired. “It is probable that the council is pushing for a family line of Kazekage for their own benefit.”

Kankuro stays silent for a few seconds.

“’Cause it’d be easier to hold power over the position?”

Gaara nods and realizes his brother can’t see him.

“It is the only plausible explanation I’ve found.”

Sometimes Gaara can’t help but feel exhausted. It’s insulting, that even in times of hard-won peace somebody would try so hard to take as much power as possible. He’s not naïve – he knows that it takes very little for a world like theirs to go back to old, violent habits, but it still hurts to know that the Council has so little fate in his work, and the one of his peers.

He can’t imagine lifting a hand against Kurotsuchi, nor Chōjūrō, and he appreciates the friendship they’ve managed to build together, the youngest kages of their generation. When the five of them meet all together, Gaara likes the time he gets with them when the official business has been dealt with, and they’ve spent more than a few pleasant evenings together in Kirigakure. And even if he wouldn’t go as far as calling Lord Kakashi and the Raikage his friends, they’re still reliable, trustworthy, steadfast colleagues.

“Man, fuck the elders. I’m really gonna go rogue,” mumbles Kankuro.

“That is not a good idea.” Gaara huffs out, and Kankuro turns his head around just to look at him, a smile on his face. “It’s a hassle to visit Temari already.”

His brother bursts out laughing and straightens up, smacking one hand on his leg. Right, that was a joke – even at twenty-four, sometimes he gets them, sometimes he doesn’t. Luckily his brother doesn’t think him particularly weird for that.

“I wouldn’t leave you to face these pricks by yourself,” Kankuro says, relaxing against the soft material of Gaara’s couch. “Though, if you could be swayed to get married, they’d definitely get off my back too.”

“Kankuro.” He warns, but again, it’s a joke… He thinks.

“What? You can pick a blonde wife.”

“Kankuro.”

***

As some of the most beautiful things in his life have happened before (meeting Naruto, rediscovering his relationship with his siblings, learning that his mother, in the end, loved him), Shinki happens without any kind of forewarning.

It is sheer luck that brings them together. Gaara is sadly aware of all the orphans the war has created, and has tried his absolute best to build up a support system valid enough not to leave anybody behind and cast out, as he and Naruto were – Shinki is one of them, and on an average day like any other he would’ve been dealt with through a few expert but random shinobi of the Sand, tasked to calm him down and bring him back to his orphanage.

Gaara finds him before anybody can call for help. He’s hurt and angry and lashes out like there’s nothing in the world he cares about, and no one to care about him. After Shinki has calmed down enough to speak, Gaara realizes that it’s probably true.

“I hurt you.” Shinki says later, mumbling around a bite of harsha. He refused to eat until Gaara himself took the first bite, and he doesn’t understand whether it was out of respect, fear, or distrust, but ultimately he’s eating, so he can’t complain. The sweet flatbread crumbles in Gaara’s mouth with every bite he takes, and he must look ridiculous, with crumbs all over his stern uniform. He hums as a reassuring answer to the kid in front of him, trying to brush them away.

“There’s no need to worry, Shinki. I have a strong defense, your spears didn’t tear through it.”

The child lifts his head suddenly, now, a new light on his features.

“They didn’t?”

Gaara shakes his head. Shinki’s Jiton is strong, potentially stronger than his by a mile, but it’s untrained.

“You’re strong, then.” Shinki declares. Gaara feels a chuckle build up in his throat. Half of the kids his age get overly excited when he’s around, the other half hides in fear because of the tales passed down by their parents. It’s peculiar, to be treated like his power actually needs to be checked.

“I’m glad you think so.” He concurs, and Shinki moves to take the glass in front of him and keeps his eyes on Gaara, like he’s checking if he’s allowed to, if he’s going to stop him, or something. The smell of mint is refreshing in the heat, but something uneasy pools in Gaara’s stomach at the sight of this child, so suspicious and cautious. He can’t be much older or younger than his nephew and his peers back in Konoha, Gaara knows because kids grow as fast as lightning and a year of age difference manifests in twenty centimeters of height, the ability to count up to one twenty, and a great deal of other changes.

To think that other kids spend their days lounging around, having fun with friends, and being loved by their parents, while this child can’t even drink or eat without being so wary – it makes his insides churn.

“Then you can train me, for real.”

Gaara really chuckles this time, and takes another harsha from the tray between them. It leaves all sorts of crumbs on his fingers as he cuts it open in half, but at least it’s not oily.

“I’ll be happy to be your teacher.” Shinki nibbles at his own food and doesn’t answer. Gaara refills the glasses with tea, his movements slow, and starts to write a mental list – he’ll have to look for Shinki’s orphanage, to gather his things, and maybe he can sleep on the couch for the next few days before he finds the time to go and buy a new bed.

“Thank you,” comes Shinki’s tiny voice, muffled by his hands. Gaara feels his heart constrict. Until they finish their food, at least, they can enjoy the calm.

***

His brother takes in the news without concealing his enthusiasm and Gaara has to force him to swear he won’t bother the child until Shinki himself feels comfortable enough to approach him. Kankuro pouts and protests, says that since his first nephew is so far away he has every right to pester his second one as much as he wants, but otherwise respect his wishes.

Once again he proves to be the best brother in the world, taking it upon himself to carry out some of Gaara’s duties so he can spend the first few days without leaving Shinki by himself for long periods of time. He also visits the orphanage as the Kazekage’s delegate to explain the situation – Gaara will deal with the paperwork later, if Shinki actually agrees to stay with him indefinitely.

They spend the hottest hours of the day in the greenhouses, talking about chakra theory. There’s a long way to go, concerning the less practical aspects of a shinobi training, but Shinki is a quick study, curious and determined. He bombards Gaara with questions, listens intently, asks him to rephrase what he doesn’t understand.

Gaara waters the cacti and repots the plants that have just sprouted, checks on the ones he grafted during the previous weeks, and plucks some fruits that are ripe enough. They share some figs together, and Gaara revels in Shinki’s intense expression as he tries one for the first time.

One day, after a week or so, he asks Shinki if he wants to pick some dates himself. The kid stares at him and at the date palm that’s staggering in height before them: he looks suspicious, like there’s a catch that Gaara’s hiding from him. The shinobi smiles, willing the sand in his gourd to life, and tendrils of it start lifting through the air. Shinki’s eyes start to glimmer.

“I thought you might want to see some sand manipulation after this much talk.” Gaara offers as Shinki tentatively lifts a hand to touch the sand. “I can lift you up to the dates if you want. You can’t eat them, though, we have to let them dry out for a few days.”

The child nods vigorously, completely enthused. It’s the first time Gaara hears him laugh and he’s relieved to discover that, after all, the laughter of children sounds always the same.

Shinki’s a bit rough around the edges – he needs to learn how to live in a world that doesn’t want him dead, and Gaara can widely empathize with that.

He’s pleased to find further proof of how much of a blunt child he is, and greatly enjoys their unusual communication: it’s stiff and easy and short and frank and precise and cautious, and it couldn’t make sense to anybody else but to him, it does. He just hopes that Shinki can eventually grow to feel the same, too.

“Dad,” Shinki says one evening, curled up on the couch. It’s been several months since the first day he stepped foot inside his new home. Gaara freezes in his movements as he’s chopping down vegetables for dinner. “Can you turn off the light, please?”

Gaara complies. He picks the book that Shinki was reading and places it on the ground, so it won’t inadvertently fall and wake him up, and goes to flick off the lights of the living room. He hears his son mutters something akin to thanks and goes back to preparing dinner.

***

Naruto steps down as Kakashi’s successor.

For once in his life, Gaara isn’t taken by surprise. It’s the other way around, really: everybody is completely shocked by the news but him, which is a new one. The gloating feeling that pervades Gaara is another first in his life – it’s stupid to be so proud of this of all things, and he punches his glee down methodically and rationally.

But he was the only one who felt it, and he is one of the few people who agreed from the get-go, no questions asked, so he might as well be smug for once, even if he doesn’t show it.

“I’d like to travel a little,” Naruto says, pensive, lightly hitting the kitchen table with his knuckles. He rests his chin on the other hand, the one that’s wrapped tightly by the gauzes. Gaara moves his cup of tea around.

“It might be a good idea.” He offers and taps the rim of the cup with his fingernails, making clinking sounds. The house is silent, because Boruto and Himawari are at school, and Hinata’s off to visit her sister. It’s just them, and a great deal of quiet, and it’s clear that Naruto’s not feeling his usual self. “Your teacher was a traveling hermit, right?”

Naruto says mh-mh, moves his whole body nervously just to bring his hands back down on his folded knees. Gaara doesn’t know much about the Gama Sennin, just that he left the Leaf as a great shinobi, traveled as a great shinobi, and died as a great shinobi.

“Ero-sennin had no ties, though.” Naruto sighs and hangs his head, pouting. “I wish I could take the kids with me.”

“Can’t you?” Naruto snorts a laugh. “School’s almost over, isn’t it?” And then it looks like he’s actually thinking about it, gaze fixed somewhere before him, looking at the teapot without really seeing it.

“I don’t know.” He says, scratching his nose with one finger. “I’m not sure if Hinata would…” and he trails off, blue eyes lost in thought. Suddenly he starts, inadvertently slamming one hand on the table with too much force. “Anyway, you got anything to do tonight?”

Gaara has something to do that night: it’s rare for the siblings of the sand to have an occasion to reunite and, despite appearances, Shinki is happy to spend time with another boy his age.

They’re having dinner, Suna-style, and Gaara can’t help but invite Naruto when he sees the dejected look on his face as Gaara tells him he has plans for the evening. He also can’t help but feel amused when Shinki spends half of the evening staring straight at the Konohanin, with the same unsettling gaze he himself surely used to have when he was younger.

He reasons it’s probably because Naruto is for all intents and purposes a stranger to him, and he wasn’t expecting someone foreign to sit at the table with them tonight – Shinki often needs time to get used to new people, so Gaara makes a mental note to tell him he’s sorry for springing a stranger on him in a supposedly family space.

“That’s not it,” Shinki says later as he’s being tucked into bed. Him and Shikadai have had the rare benefit of a late curfew, but Gaara saw the way they started to yawn in front of the television. His nephew is in the other room, brushing his teeth.

“Your friend is fine,” Shinki speaks as he rubs his eyes, “but you always speak of him with high regard. I wasn’t expecting him to be kind of a goof.”

It takes everything not to laugh at that.

“He can be.” Gaara concedes. “Maybe one day you’ll see his abilities as a shinobi and you’ll understand why I admire him so much.”

Shinki doesn’t seem impressed. He nods and turns to lay on his side, eyes already closed.

“He can’t be stronger than aunt Temari anyway.” He mumbles.

“I wonder,” Gaara chuckles a little and stands up. His friend and family are waiting for him downstairs, and he can’t wait to report this particular conversation to them. “Goodnight, Shinki.”

***

A couple of years pass, things settle the way they tend to, which is to say: as they please. The kids grow up and Naruto has more freedom to travel without worrying too much, though he always makes the effort to be frequently home, and to bring all kinds of gifts to his children. His visits to Suna are also somehow frequent, even if he says he doesn’t like the scalding heat, the sand, the sun, the everything.

“I feel honored you still choose to visit despite it all.” Gaara says one evening when they’re together, far outside the village where there’s very little artificial light – though Suna isn’t much alive in the first place, in that sense. Naruto lays down on the cold desert sand, gazing up at the starry sky, enormous and so densely speckled the constellations mix up completely.

We don’t have this in Konoha, Naruto always tells him, and the rest of the Five Nations don’t, either. Only your desert, Gaara. He himself hasn’t seen the world from inside out, like Naruto has, to decide whether he’s right.

“Though I wonder why you put yourself under such a strain just to see these same old rocks.”

“I like the greenhouse,” Naruto fires back, too quick, “and the nights are cool.”

Gaara hides the surprise on his face by taking out the thermos he’s brought, full of chilled tea. He pours it in two glasses, burrowing them a little into the sand so they don’t fall over. The condensation forms quickly on the glass, and sand sticks on the surface. Before handing out one to Naruto, he manipulates the sand away without really thinking about it.

The other man gulps down half his glass immediately, smacking his lips afterwards with an enthusiastic smile.

“And you can’t find tea this good in Konoha!”

To be honest, Gaara doesn’t remember Naruto ever expressing these things clearly – in all his visits, he’s never proposed himself a trip to the greenhouses, and he always looks stressed in the humid, oppressive air of that environment. The nights are cool, but Naruto likes to spend them sleeping like a rock, his habits a perfect mirror of Gaara’s own, who still can’t manage to get more than four hours of sleep every night.

It’s true that Naruto tries to stay awake with him in the office, but he always ends up asleep uncomfortably on his chair and wakes up with terrible backpain. So, Gaara isn’t completely convinced of his friend’s words, but he guesses that it must simply be his own inability to read others, as always.

“I will gift you some for your travels,” he offers, taking a sip of his own, “dried mint doesn’t work as well as fresh one, but it can be a valid substitute, in a pinch. I know my sister has a plant of Suna mint back in Konoha, you might ask her as well. Though I advise you to thread carefully, Kankuro says it’s her second son.”

Naruto laughs, hides his smile behind the glass, and Gaara can’t help but stare.

“I think you make it in some kind of way.” He says, then, still not looking at him. “It’s not the same anywhere else.”

He feels warmth pooling in his belly and turns around quickly, blush spreading on his ears and face. Gaara knows he’s too pale, people have picked fun of him for that ever since he was an awkward teen. Now he’s an awkward thirty-year-old, and things haven’t really changed, especially when Naruto is involved.

“I’ll be happy to host you, then.” He manages to get out before too many seconds pass, his voice a little raspy. “As I’ve always been.”

Naruto gives him his blinding smile, the one that makes him squint and almost close his eyes, and Gaara notices for the first time in his life how crow’s feet are starting to show up at his eyes. They don’t make him any less handsome, just a little more rugged.

Then, slowly, Naruto loses the smile. He whirls the glass in his hand, dark liquid sloshing around in perfect circles.

“That’s a relief, y’know,” he says, “I might need to stay away from home for longer bouts of time for a while.”

Gaara frowns.

“Did something happen in Konoha?”

Naruto shrugs, clearly embarrassed. He drinks the rest of this glass, cleans the condensation on it with his shirt, and buries it a little in the sand like Gaara did earlier. He places both hands behind him and stares up at the night sky again. Gaara forces himself to divert his gaze from him to the horizon line that stretches in front of them.

“Well. How do I say this, huh…” Naruto sighs. “Hinata and I are getting a divorce.”

Gaara feels his eyes bulge and he quickly turns his head towards the other. By now, Naruto is smiling again, kindly so. Gaara stutters a little, taken aback.

“A… what? How?”

“Oh! It’s a new thing. I think your sister invented it.”

“No, I know what a divorce is.” Gaara shakes his head. “I imported the law a few years ago after the godaime mizukage introduced the concept to me. You didn’t have it in Konoha either?”

“Not really.” Naruto looks a little pained. “Ah, so that’s where it comes from, no wonder your sister knew about it. Anyway, yeah. I didn’t know it was a thing until Hinata came to me with the paperwork. Apparently Kakashi made some new law too sometime last year.”

Gaara stays silent, eyeing him with shock on his face. Most unpredictable ninja in the world, even after all these years. Since he doesn’t answer, Naruto speaks for him.

“And now I’m… a divorcee. That’s the word,” he grumbles a little, “I think.”

“Naruto,” Gaara breathes out, resting a kind hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry. If you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Naruto refuses his offer with hands and words, and simply plops back down on the sand. He says that the kids are taking it well, and that’s the important part. He also says that it’s good he’s traveling often, because he’s currently crashing at Sasuke and Sakura’s house – he could stay at home, it’s not like Hinata wants to kick him out. He just finds the whole situation weird.

Sasuke and Sakura live in a traditional house on the outskirts of town, which means there’s plenty of space for their old friend. Their daughter Sarada is a wonderful kid, and Gaara remembers so, too, but she’s also as ruthless and outspoken as her parents are. Naruto gets lost in recounting all the times she’s bullied him for being a picky eater, and the night passes like that.

***

As Kazekage, Gaara doesn’t really have paid vacation days. He doesn’t have vacation days at all, but luckily Kankuro is the best brother in the world, after all. He notices the way Gaara starts zoning out during conversations every few months – it’s true that he’s been used to working with a few hours of sleep a night for his whole life, but it doesn’t mean it’s a healthy habit.

So, once a year, Kankuro steps up temporarily as Kazekage and forces him to go away from Suna for a couple of weeks, because of course if he stays there he’ll just end up working anyway.

Naruto happens to be visiting, that year, a couple of days before his scheduled forced-vacation time, and it feels natural for them to leave together. Kankuro doesn’t say anything as he watches his brother pack up for the journey, but the way he looks at him, with crossed hands and a smug face, is a message in itself.

“Don’t be insensitive,” Gaara tells him, a huff in his voice. “Naruto has been going through a painful divorce, with the kids and all, and it’s not the time to make this kind of jokes.”

“I didn’t even open my mouth.”

Gaara’s ears burn a little.

The land of Rivers hosts a shocking amount of, well, rivers. They take the train (wonderful contraption, Gaara feels so proud of it) and get off in Tanigakure, and Gaara finds that he has missed the feeling of traveling by foot, jumping from tree to tree with practiced ease, even if his speed isn’t the same as it was when he was younger.

The air is humid in the northern parts of the land, where they start to mix up with the territories of Amegakure, and when the sun is high in the sky Naruto doesn’t waste any chance of stripping down to his underwear and throwing himself into the rivers, the water clean and fresh just in the right way.

Gaara always marvels at the sheer amount of water of this land – Suna lives on the smallest percentage of it, and he takes advantage of it as much as he can too, plugging his nose and submerging himself completely. The water gets in his nose anyway, and his hair gets all wild, the way he used to keep it when he was younger.

He ruffles it when he gets to the surface, and Naruto laughs: you look so young, he says, and if Gaara wasn’t preoccupied with trying to get water out of his ears he’d think to feel offended.

As he dries up, stretched out on the uncomfortable pebbles of the shore, Naruto is always moving, bustling about their bags to find something to eat. After he swims he always gets hungry, and they still have to find a town to spend the night in, so real food could take a few hours to be feasible.

To be honest, Gaara doesn’t mind sleeping in the wilderness, if there’s the other man by his side. Naruto is well versed in traveling by himself by now, and he’s lively, never dejected when something happens to go wrong. He mutters a lot, singing under his breath: he’s charming, as he’s always been, but Gaara can’t help but think he, too, looks younger than he ever did back in Konoha. He looks happier, too, has the same face he wore in the first few years after Boruto was born.

At the end of the day, they decide to make camp in a cave, because the sun is starting to set and there’s no village in sight.

Naruto gathers up some wood and works with Katon until it’s dry enough to be lit up, and they sit in companionable silence for a while. Gaara lets his head rest on the rock behind him and feels himself almost nodding off, lulled by the soft cracking of the fire. Then Naruto speaks, out of the blue.

“I’m really happy I happened to be in Suna exactly at the right time.” He prods at the fish cooking on the fire, clearly hungry, and then he goes to busy himself with their bags since there’s still some time to wait. “It’s been so long since I’ve had this fun traveling.” A light rain has started outside the cave, and Gaara diverts his attention from it to focus on the man in front of him.

“I am, too.” He smiles, nodding. “I’m not sure I would’ve taken on the forest by myself if you hadn’t been here. I don’t enjoy solitude anymore, I have become too accustomed to other people’s presence.” Naruto chuckles at the answer. “I’m also happy to see you so at ease. I thought the situation with you and Hinata would have brought you down for a longer while, but yet again you managed to find the resolve not to give up.”

The other laughs, waves one hand around, just as Gaara begins to stand up to grab some water to drink.

“Oh, really, you don’t have to be so grave about it. I know there’s the kids, but me and Hinata were always kind of forced to have split custody, y’know?” Gaara remembers the two of them taking missions in turns, remembers Naruto first with one, then two babies strapped to his belly and back, walking around Konoha. “It seems they’re taking it well.” He shrugs. “Besides, we married out of convenience, remember?”

Out of what.

Gaara freezes in his movements, feeling pure ice in his veins at the words. He manages to sit down, blinking rapidly as his eyes are fixed on the fire, not really seeing it.

“Of… convenience?” He manages to croak, and Naruto hums.

“Yeah, saying it like that sounds bad but we were actually pretty good friends.”

Since the silence stretches out for way too long, because he just can’t seem to breathe, damn it, Naruto notices, and turns away from their bags to see what’s wrong – Gaara’s making some sort of wheezing sound.

“Oi, what’s-”

His head shots up, looking at Naruto with shocked eyes, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so confused and weirdly hurt in his whole life. The other rushes over.

“Breathe slowly now. Look at me, hey, like this.” It’s ridiculous, to be so affected by something so trivial, except it’s not that trivial, except Gaara has spent the last fifteen years of his life forcing himself to give up because he thought he had no chance, none in the world, and there was no universe in which he would even consider the idea of disturbing Naruto’s peaceful, perfect, married life. He focuses on the warmth that seeps from Naruto’s hand, rubbing circles into his back.

“You-” Gaara swallows on nothing. “You had a sham marriage?”

Naruto’s hand slows down until it stops, and then it lifts away, and just like every time Gaara can’t help but cry a little at the loss of contact. The other straightens up in front of him, staring down with a dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah, what’s with the- you didn’t know?” Naruto’s voice breaks at the end of the sentence. On his part, Gaara’s still trying to restart his breathing abilities – he feels like he’s just been sucker punched in the guts.

“Was I supposed to?” He asks back, feebly. Naruto waves his arms around, sputters, and comes to his knees in front of him, trying to get a look at Gaara’s face to make sure he’s not dying, which, well, it’s debatable.

“Everybody back at the village knew!”

“Am I a Konohanin?” He asks, rhetorical. Naruto sputters again, incredulous.

“You have a sister who’s friends with the biggest gossip in the whole land!”

“What Ino and Temari speak of during,” he heaves a breath, feeling the rhythm coming back to him, “during their time together is not of my competence.” He pauses and lifts a hand to stop Naruto from talking. “And I don’t endorse and participate in gossip, especially regarding one of my closest friends.”

“Well I’m-” Naruto chokes on his own words. “I’m sorry it took all this time. I guess it never came up.”

Gaara doesn’t answer and Naruto doesn’t move from his place on the ground either. He moves his hands to place them on Gaara’s knees, rubbing circles against the rough cloth of his pants.

“It’s just, you know, Hinata kinda put that out there and. We were twenty and… everybody started to get together while… I had… no one, I guess.” The last part, he says with a mumble. Like he’s realizing how idiotic it sounds when said out loud.

“Naruto,” Gaara breathes out, still shocked, “how in the world is that a sensible line of thought?”

“It’s- I don’t know!” He drops on the ground, crossing his legs. Gaara can’t help but think he looks like a kid, with the posture, the pouting, and all. “The war had ended, and Sasuke was back and suddenly everything was… Done? Finished, y’know? Like, who needs the world’s biggest bomb in times of peace? Who wants it, really?” He waves one hand as he talks, looking unsure.

“Sasuke and Sakura had their thing going, and by then I never really felt anything for anyone, so, I thought that what I had with Hinata was just how it was supposed to be.” His hand goes back to Gaara’s knee. Naruto lowers his head until it rests on the back of his hands, and he keeps speaking without looking at him, gaze pointed towards the ground. “So we got together and we stayed together and we had a kid and- Hyuuga are a complicated bunch. We kinda had to get married and stuff.”

Gaara stays silent for a while. Then, tentatively, he places one hand on Naruto’s hair, patting it awkwardly, because he doesn’t want Naruto to think he’s rejecting his obvious need to talk.

“And stuff.”

“Yeah.”

Gaara doesn’t want to pry. He still does.

“As in?”

“I don’t know.” Naruto says, low. “I really wanted a family, y’know. I thought that maybe, if I just focused on the kids and on becoming Hokage, then I’d be able to bear coming home every evening to a wife I didn’t really love.” Gaara stays still, attentive. “And it worked for a while, I think it did until I realized that being Hokage wasn’t good for me or the village itself. And so I had nothing, again.” It comes out a little bit as a whine.

“And kids grow up, Gaara.” He lifts his head all of a sudden, knocking Gaara’s hand away in the process. “They grow up, that’s the worst of it. One day you just can’t get ten seconds of peace by yourself and they bother you with random questions until you want to rip your hair out, and then, out of the blue, they don’t even want to talk to you about their day.” Naruto closes his right hand in a fist, bringing it down softly on Gaara’s knee again. “It’s so unfair, Gaara. Nobody tells you they grow up, and that you find yourself alone.”

Gaara smiles, now, the lengthy explanation having given him time to recollect himself - the proximity with the other man didn’t hurt, either.

“Shinki has stopped calling me dad, he prefers a more formal father now. And lately Temari has come to me with complaints of similar nature about her own son.” He drops his hand on Naruto’s fist, covering it, his skin roughed by long periods of traveling under any conditions. “You’re not alone, Naruto. There’s plenty of people who care about you, and children who grow into adolescents sooner or later grow into adults, too. And eventually they make their return to their caretakers, if they have created a safe place for them during their childhood.” He offers, kind, because he guesses his friend is aware about this and is just in need of reassurance. “And from what I’ve seen, you’ve been a good father. You just need to be patient.”

Naruto sighs.

“I’ve been traveling for just a couple of months at a time, but when I go back to Konoha it feels like time jumps like crazy.” He mutters, pouting. “Himawari grows so fast. But if I try to stay there for longer than three weeks, I go crazy because it feels like nothing ever happens. But then I go away and, boom, when I come back there’s a freaking train station.”

Gaara hums and nods, taking pride in the reminder.

“The Thunder Rail has been one of the greatest accomplishments of the post-war era, I believe. It certainly made me happy, to be able to visit Konoha often.”

“Often as in, thrice a year.” Naruto mumbles, still a frown on his face, and he looks so young despite his age. A sad grimace makes its way on Gaara’s face, despite himself. If he had known about the inner turmoil of his friend, he would’ve tried to visit more often.

“You know how demanding the title of kage can be, Naruto.” He offers, resignation in his voice. The other looks away, probably aware of the truth of his words, and Gaara fumbles a little, wishing to comfort his friend and not upset him more. “I always made time to visit you, as well, if it’s of any help. My nephew had his fun in teasing me about that.”

That brings Naruto’s attention back to him.

“You let Shikadai make fun of you?”

Gaara shrugs, a small smile on his lips.

“As I said before, we must make a safe space of our homes for our children. Shikadai had his mother to scold him, if need be, but I was just his awkward uncle. Besides, I used to leave him and Shinki together to bond as cousins when I left to visit your house.” He chuckles, thinking of his son. “Shinki is a smart child and he may very well be stronger than I was at his age, but he doesn’t care much for manners, nor for the company of his peers. Perhaps that was some sort of vengeance on Shikadai’s part, too.”

Naruto snorts at that.

“He’s always been cunning, that one. And with his mother’s ruthlessness.”

“He was always easily bought, though.” Gaara adds, smiling softly. “His first console was a gift.” He pauses, and Naruto looks up at him from the ground with a questioning face. Gaara shrugs. “You can imagine my confusion as I had to navigate Konoha’s technology shops for hours – of course, we didn’t have that kind of contraptions in Suna. The console came in two colors, and I took a gamble with the red one. When it turned out to be the wrong color, he made me go back and change it.”

Naruto laughs out loud, rolling back on the ground and dangerously close to the fire. It pops a little, sending sparks flying, and Gaara leans forward to catch his friend and bring him away from the flames. Naruto looks at the hand on his shirt with some sort of bewilderment.

“The color did not impact the console’s performance, mind you.” He keeps talking, humoring himself. “I found it ridiculous, but it had to be changed.” He sighs, shaking his head. “He was nine. It was the one and only time in my life I almost argued with a child.”

“Yeah, I noticed you never argue with Shinki, either.” Naruto ponders, still unmoving. “He must’ve been really vicious in his teasing if you had to go this far to avoid it, but somehow I can’t picture it, y’know.”

It’s Gaara’s turn to look away for a split second, now. He avoids Naruto’s blue eyes and, when he comes back to them, he finds them shining even in the backlight.

“He wasn’t vicious, it was just embarrassing. If he started, then Temari would catch up and join. If Kankuro was there, too, it was never ending.”

“What, because you liked to visit Konoha when you got bored of the desert?”

Gaara almost laughs out loud, soft. At this point, it’s unexpectedly easy to speak.

“I could never get bored of the desert, Naruto. They made fun of me because I was always impatient to go see you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, during which Gaara notices a couple of unimportant things. It happens to him, sometimes, to remember a particular scene for years on end. It had happened during those disastrous Chuunin exams, years ago, when he had found himself shaking and hurting like he never had, on the ground, and Naruto’s voice had made him turn around and witness the slow drag of his exhausted body towards Gaara. If he closes his eyes he can still hear that broken voice, cutting through years of hatred, and he can still visualize the minute detail of the dirt under the boy’s fingernails as he gripped grass and dirt to get close to Gaara.

It had happened when he died, and when he came back, when he could feel Chiyo’s weight on his chest, almost pressing him back inside his own body. He had touched the grass that lay under him, finding little drops of dew here and there, and had marveled at the contrast between that and the roughness that pervaded every single sore muscle of his.

It had happened at the beginning of the war, when all the other kage had looked at him, young and not ready and a complete failure at connecting with others, and they had enough faith to tell him: go, talk to our people. His voice was trembling so much he had to cover it up by making it rougher than it really was, and at the end of his speech he coughed for ten minutes before calming down. He remembers the glint in Kakashi’s eye, and that a single white hair had fallen on his dark mask, unnoticed.

It had happened many other times – he remembers the exact six objects that sat on the table the first time that Shinki actually came up to him and gave him a hug, small hands gripping his clothes: two glasses filled to the brim with tea, a tray of watermelon slices, his reading glasses, the paperwork regarding Sunagakure’s greenhouse fourth expansion, and his white linen scarf, neatly folded up.

So, even this time, he can’t help but noticing the smallest thing, like the way Naruto’s lips twitch minutely, or the way the fire pops and snaps behind him, reminding Gaara of the raw beauty of his bijuu mode. He notices how Naruto hardens his grip on the ground, fingers clutching at stone, and how his gaze shifts into this determined, mute focus. Gaara recognizes that look, after all, it may very well be one of the reasons he couldn’t help falling in love with the man.

“I can’t believe you never said it just because you thought I was actually married.”

Gaara starts a little, and he lets out a brief laugh shortly after. The subtle rejection doesn’t sting: he’s spent almost half his life accepting it, so he’s mostly just glad about a new possible nuance for light teasing in their friendship.

“I am not a home wrecker, Naruto. I would have never-”

“But I’ve been divorced for almost a year, now.”

“And you needed time to recover. After all, you’ve been married for over a decade.”

“I’m recovered now. Totally recovered, yep.”

Gaara pauses at that, and squints a little. In the low light he can’t understand if there’s a hint of a blush on the other’s face. His heart lurches anyway, just barely. He has a vague feeling – but it can’t be, not really.

“I’m just saying, a man ought to rebuild his life after a tough breakup, y’know?”

“He can do so, yes.” Gaara still hasn’t let up his hold on Naruto’s shirt. He yanks on it a little, just to see the reaction, and Naruto falls forward a little more than the movement calls for. “If he wishes for it.”

“I do.” It’s Naruto’s breathless answer, as he pushes himself towards Gaara, hands coming to his calves. Gaara can feel the strength of that grip even through the heavy fabric of his clothes. “I very much do.”

Gaara takes a gamble and leans in, ears burning. This time he’s right, and he finds that Naruto’s face burns just as well.

***

It’s Boruto’s face that peeks from the door when Naruto knocks. His blond hair sticks out in every direction, he clearly hasn’t brushed it – Naruto remembers he never used to, either, when he was his age, and Sakura complained about him looking like a wild animal all the time.

“Mom!” The kid calls out, not even bothering to say hi to him. “The geezer’s here, so we’re going!”

“Hey, who are you calling-”

“Dad!”

Naruto gets an armful of his daughter before he can finish scolding Boruto, who grabs his backpack and flies out the door. Gaara and Shinki wait just outside the garden, and they strike what seems to be an easy conversation with his son, at least on Gaara’s part. He’ll have to ask him, how he manages to do that.

“I’ve gotten super strong!” Himawari shouts in his ear, shrill voice threatening to puncture his left eardrum. He laughs anyway, giving her a toothy smile.

“And you’ve gotten super big too! What’s this, another five centimeters?” He asks, holding her at a distance and letting her legs dangle a little. “Ten centimeters?” Himawari laughs like chimes in the wind, squirming.

“You’ve been away for just three weeks, dad.”

“Hey, my friend Choji can grow like, ten meters in three seconds. I think you can do ten centimeters in three weeks.” He gently puts her down and ruffles her hair. “Go to your brother, I’ll pick up your bag.” Himawari nods and runs off too, just as her mother steps out of the door.

“Hello,” Hinata says, a slight smile on her lips. She’s dressed down, her long dark hair gathered in a bun. A few locks slip out of it as she extends an arm to give Naruto their daughter’s backpack.

“Hi there,” he replies, “everything okay?”

“Yes, though I’m glad I’ll have the next few days to rest.” She laughs, as discreetly as always. “They’ve been very rowdy. I don’t know what they eat, to be so full of energy – and I should know, I cook for them.”

Naruto chuckles.

“I hope all the walking will tire them out,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. “And I hope Boruto and Shinki won’t pick too many fights with each other.” Hinata offers a sympathetic smile. “I’m still not completely sold on this idea, but I guess I’ve had worse ones.”

“Oh, Shinki’s coming too? I’m happy Gaara managed to convince him.”

“Yeah, we had to tell him it’s sort of a training camp,” Naruto chuckles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “He wanted to stay in Suna and help his uncle with the kage’s business, since it’s the only time of the year when his father’s not there.”

“Is he so hardworking, even at his age?” Hinata has a slight frown on her face, like she can’t imagine a thirteen-year-old being so diligent.

“Shinki doesn’t mess around, yeah.” Naruto laughs, loading his daughter’s bag on his shoulders. “Maybe Boruto can show him a bit of the Uzumaki ‘go with the flow’ mindset, y’know?”

Hinata smiles softly, eyes crinkling. She’s aged a little like him, too, and it hits him as strange – Naruto was always convinced he’d witness it in another way entirely, that he’d wake up one day at fifty and realize they had both gotten old together. In the best way possible, it’s a relief to know it’ll never happen.

“I know.” A pause, and he feels the time’s almost run out. They’re not on bad terms, far from it, but their conversations always turn stilted after a little while. He supposes it’s normal, it’d be weird if that wasn’t the case.

“How’s training by the way?” He asks, sheepish. “Then I’ll stop bothering you and leave.”

Hinata scoffs, a rare event.

“You’re not bothering me, Naruto.” Just as quickly, she regains her smile. “They’re taking well to the Gentle Fist. Himawari might be as good as his uncle at her age.” Naruto fills with pride at the words.

“And Boruto is Boruto.”

“Yeah.” She laughs, breezily. “Neji says he’s too much like his father, and that he can’t break through everything just with his head.”

“That sounds like his father, yeah, but I’m sure he’ll do even better.” He smiles and scratches his cheek with one finger. “We’ll be going now, before he starts yelling at me for wasting time. Take care.”

“You too. And say hi to Gaara for me.”

In the end, Boruto and Himawari scurry back to their mother again one last time, to give her a kiss on her cheek each. Naruto beams as he watches the scene, and then they’re off.

***

When Naruto rouses from his sleep, Gaara’s already awake. He shifts around, grunting a little, and moves one hand so that it rests on Gaara’s stomach.

“Hello.” He mumbles, nuzzling the skin of his shoulder – there must be sand there, there always is, but Naruto doesn’t complain.

“Hello.” Gaara says back, staring down his body. Naruto’s hand is warm and big, dark when compared to Gaara’s pale skin, its fingers stretch pleasantly on his abdomen. With wonder, as it happens sometimes, he realizes that only a year ago all this would’ve been unthinkable.

It took some adjusting, at the beginning – Naruto was and has always been very prone to expressing himself and his feelings through touch, and for the first couple of months Gaara’s knees were covered in bruises because he kept hitting his desk every time Naruto dared to lay a hand on his shoulder while working. It’s going better, obviously, though the two of them joke about being the slowest couple to have ever existed in this world and any other.

“The sun’s high enough to wake me and your son hasn’t come to ask for my head yet,” Naruto mutters against his skin, a flutter of chapped lips, “maybe I’m still dreaming.”

Gaara smiles and ruffles the other’s hair, gently.

“He told me he wanted to propagate some plants as a gift for Himawari this morning. Perhaps he got held up in the greenhouses.” He lets out a yawn – he’s been up reading for most of the night, and of course the cursed sleep decides to make itself present in the early hours of the morning. Naruto chuckles and forces himself to sort of sit up, still not removing his hand from Gaara’s stomach.

“He really is your son,” he mumbles, “‘s got all that no nonsense attitude, but deep down he’s softhearted. Himawari’s birthday is in two months, and he’s thinking that much ahead?”

“Succulents are slow to grow.” Gaara explains. He lifts one hand and places it on Naruto’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “And don’t let him hear you or he’ll have your head for real. He’s been trying very hard to give off a ‘don’t touch me’ energy, lately.”

“Maybe I should tell him I dealt with Sasuke for years. That way he’d know I’m immune to that stuff.” Gaara chuckles. “And he’d change his mind about me too, maybe.”

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed years ago.”

“Yeah, I remember. I spend my teenage years bringing every shinobi in the world together just to get labeled as a goof by a six-year-old.” Naruto gives him a smile that’s all teeth, eyes crinkling. “Hard to forget, y’know.”

“You can be a goof, sometimes.”

“Yeah, but I can also fight God and win.”

“You can.” Gaara hums and pulls on Naruto to make him bend over. He easily complies, kissing Gaara with a soft touch. Despite the gentleness of the gesture, or perhaps because of it, the sand shinobi feels his toes curl slightly, and he lets out a sigh.

His blessed son, of course, chooses that exact moment to enter the apartment. Naruto breaks off the kiss and looks at him with a face that means trouble, like he’s preparing to pull a prank, and Gaara can’t restrain himself from huffing out an exasperated laugh.

“Hey!” He calls out, and Shinki’s steps halt outside the bedroom. The door opens shortly after, revealing the teen: his face is covered in streaks of dirt alongside his usual paint, and he doesn’t look too happy. “Good morning, Shinki. You’re late for training.” Naruto says, with as much as a serious expression he can pull off.

The teen sizes them up. He’s really started to grow lately, and Gaara fears he’ll catch up to them in no time – he remembers the time when Shinki would stand in that exact place, at half his current height.

Shinki scoffs, not believing him for a second. He turns around and leaves.

“Sure, Aho-sennin. Because you would have been ready, had I come here two hours ago.”

“I have a witness!” Naruto shouts, all cheerful. Gaara shakes his head as he laughs and begins to get up. “Your father here can testify that I woke up, got ready, waited for you and, when you didn’t come, I went back to sleep.”

“I cannot confirm nor deny the aforementioned, as I was asleep.” Gaara lies, walking towards the kitchen to get the water started.

Both voices come at the same time, one from the bedroom and one from the open bathroom: “you weren’t”, they say, and then Naruto bursts out laughing. Shinki’s smiling too, just a little.

“You both know me so well,” he sighs with humor, scooping up a spoonful of tea leaves and pouring them into the teapot. “You’re having breakfast with us, Shinki?”

“I thought Aho-sennin was so eager to train?” He says, stepping out of the bathroom, this time with no dirt on his face.

“You can’t train on an empty stomach!” Naruto supplies as he opens the fridge to scout for cheese and hardboiled eggs. His hand is on Gaara’s lower back as he takes three glasses and plates from a high cabinet, and there’s a warm thing at the bottom of his stomach.

“Besides, Naruto leaves this afternoon.” Gaara adds. His stay this time wasn’t very long, but it’s fine – they both have their matters to tend to, and the Kazekage has to concede he works with a more focused mind when Naruto’s away. He would have never thought of himself as such a sentimental person, but that’s just how it is. Or maybe he’s just getting old.

Gaara lifts his head from the almost boiling water to look at his son, who’s not answering. Shinki stares at them with an expression that screams okay, and?

Naruto bursts out laughing again.

“Man, that hurts, y’know. Am I just a training dummy for you?”

“A terribly chatty one,” the teen mutters, plopping down on his chair and crossing his arms. Naruto hands him one egg and lifts his own one, challenging him as he used to when he was younger. Shinki huffs and is quick to strike, cracking the other’s shell, which prompts Naruto to whine immediately.

“How come you always win at this?”

“Uncle taught me the best technique.” Shinki says, impassive, like he’s talking about shogi and not cracking eggs. Gaara laughs under his breath, pouring a little bit of hot water into the teapot to open the leaves. He remembers little Shinki being enamored by the process the first time he saw it, with all the pouring out and then back in, and the light white foam that built up like magic.

“Suna does have Hiden jutsu, then…” Naruto pouts as he starts to peel his egg.

“When will you be back?” Shinki asks out of the blue, thumbing at the edge of the table. The Konohanin shrugs, bits of eggshell sticking to his fingers, and Gaara brings the tea to the table. He pours it with practiced ease, the smell of fresh mint filling the room, and sits down.

“It was the Nanadaime who asked for me, so who knows. Since I’m already there I want to spend some time with my kids, too.” He holds out to Gaara the egg he just peeled, a smile on his face. “Could be a month or two.”

Shinki doesn’t answer, he just cracks his egg on the surface of the table and starts to peel it with a frown on his face.

“Don’t miss me too much.” Naruto adds in the silence, ever the troublemaker. Shinki huffs and rolls his eyes, handing him his perfectly peeled egg. “Dang, you do know the best technique.” Naruto says, impressed. “Can this be considered Kekkei Genkai? Tamagoton, or something?”

Later, they’ll have to split up.

Shinki and Naruto will go to the training fields, cracking jokes with one another. He already knows that when they’ll meet again for lunch they’ll be bruised, because that’ll be their last session for a while, so they might as well go all out. Gaara will walk towards his office instead, austere uniform perfectly in place. He’ll have his meetings and he’ll write his letters, and then they’ll see Naruto off at the train station. Him and Shinki will get back to their routines, with the plants and the training and everything else: for now, though, Gaara feels content to sit between his favourite people, warm tea in hand, light words in the air.