This goes along with my fiction "Midnight Tears," though you don't need to read that to understand this. Just know that it's a Gaara/Sakura love story. This little one-shot is for Gaara's birthday, so...



"You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul."

-Julie de Lespinasse-

- Sakura -


I had learned to read his eyes long ago. Though his face remained stoic, impassive, the glint glowing in his gaze showed me he was chuckling on the inside.

"I do not have the ability to love."

Now that stung.

As if his words didn't change anything, he stepped closer to me, grabbing hold of my arms before I had a chance to run.

"No, Sakura," and the way he said my name caused chills to spread up and down my spine. "I do not love you."

Then, pulling me closer, "I don't even lust after you."

I wanted to cry. Not because of his harsh, stinging words, but because I had known these things from the very beginning. Known them, and failed to act on that knowledge. Just like every other aspect of my being. My mind gave me the facts, I just didn't have the ability to use them.

"But I crave what you can give me," he continued, his warm breath whispering in my ear. "I crave touch, and you are the only one who can give me such contact."

As if to emphasize his point, he snaked a hand down my arm to rest against my waist.

"I hate you."

This time I visibly winced. I knew he didn't love me, that much was obvious. But hate? I thought we had actually grown close to each other. Maybe not in the way most people would grow close, granted, but still I had trusted him.

"I hate you, because I need you."

And then I realized, it had been foolish from the very beginning to ever let my heart get attached to such a monster. His purpose in life was the destruction of others, was it not? Well, what better way to kill someone than from the inside out?

"And this hate…this need…it has become my obsession."

I had fallen into his trap. I had willingly given him my heart, given him my weakness, and now he had the ability to break me. Gaara wasn't merciful. I had never been foolish enough to believe in such a lie. He was the sand, and he would inevitably be my death.

I was shocked out of my reverie when calloused hands gripped at my hips and pulled me in towards a stiff, solid chest.

"I am the predator…" he was mumbling into my hair. "…And you are my prey."

I could tell when he closed his eyes, because that threatening gaze, which caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end, was no longer boring a hole into my skull. I was doubly surprised when I felt his arms go around me, and I heard him sigh.

For someone who didn't have the ability to love, he sure was good at showing affection.

"I will kill you."

Yet, he was lacking in the 'sweet-talk' department.

"I will," he stated again, as if to confirm that to himself.

Then, gripping my body in a tight embrace, he buried his face in my neck and nuzzled my ear with his nose.

"…But not today. Not yet…"

I shivered at the contact, every fiber of my being wanting to pull away from the bloodthirsty murderer who held me. His touch made my skin crawl; and yet, at the same time, I found my body on fire. I both hated and loved this feeling; felt a touch of heaven and hell in each moment that passed by.

Was this what he meant before? Was this the line he had spoken of but a few days earlier? That foggy, blurry line, separating two opposites such as love and hate. How this life was simply a paradox; a world filled with meaningless meanings, a vague sense of what is morally right and wrong.

Murder is wrong, yet when committed on a large scale, it is merely called war and is thus acceptable. Love is beautiful, yet when it consumes the mind, it causes the lover to trap his victim in a prison of affection…Much like Gaara was doing to me at this moment.

"P-please…" I found myself saying, and couldn't help the tears that escaped my eyes.

Please? Please what? Let me go? Hold me tighter? Love me, hate me?

'Shut up and enjoy the moment!' yelled Inner Sakura, and I cringed at her tone of voice.

Gaara shifted a little, bringing his head up to press against my own. Our cheeks grazed in passing, and I heard his breath hitch as a few salty tears leaked onto his own skin. Pausing for a moment, the red-head turned until his nose was pressed against mine, and he could inhale the scent of my fear more clearly.

My eyes widened as a hesitant tongue darted out to lick up one of my stray tears.

"Your pain…" His voice was husky, raspy, as if breathing had taken a toll on his body and he now struggled to find his voice. "…It tastes so good…"

He kept running his tongue across my cheek, cleaning it, bathing it; cleansing me from my fear while in the same breath plunging me into greater terror.

"Ga-…" But before I could say a word, I felt the warmth of his lips crash down upon my own.

- Gaara -

She was beautiful.

Not because of her looks. Physical attraction never really appealed to me. Sakura had a touch of what this world might call loveliness, but she wasn't exactly up to their standards, either. The kunoichi wasn't ugly, but she wasn't too physically attractive. But beauty, I had found, went much deeper than appearances. Beauty was much more than a porcelain face.

She was tender.

Not because of her outward attitude. Words were pointless, a meaningless activity used to amuse and to abuse. They could be twisted, and poisoned, and taught to kill a victim with heartless lies. Actions, even, could be just as deceitful. Did not Konoha fall for Sunagakure's appearance of peace? For our friendly actions? No, tenderness was something that could not be seen nor heard.

I hated life. I hated all beauty, and kindness, and the weakness such things brought on.

And yet, Sakura was a loveliness I couldn't shake; a disease I couldn't heal from. I didn't love her. I couldn't. Love was hateful. Yashamaru had taught me that. It was a lesson I wouldn't soon forget.

But I needed her.

Needed her like a starving man needs bread, like a desert vagabond needs water.

Sakura was simply tolerable, yet already she had torn down more walls than my family even dared to touch. I hated her for it, too. I hated her so much, because I needed her so much. She was a weakness, and I wanted to kill her…now. I needed her alive, and in the same breath, I needed her dead.

Sakura was my drug. She was my indulgence, my rebellion, my mockery of the demon living inside of me.

But even more simple than that, she was mine.

This pink-haired kunoichi - who annoyed the hell out of me more often than not - was my property, my possession, and mine to do with as I saw fit.

Growling, I stepped closer to the girl, wanting to incite more of that delicious touch. My craving for such a drug seemed to rival that of Shukaku's craving for blood.

"W-wait…" she stammered, backing up.

I slit my eyes and ignored her demand. How dare she - the very being I owned - tell me what to do!

But she continued talking, pretending that I actually cared about what she said.

"I…I can't…I need to know…"

Still, I didn't reply, only advanced until our legs were brushing up against each other. Contact! Euphoria!

"Do you…do you love me?"

And I stopped altogether. Just when I think I have this girl figured out, she jumps a question like that on me. I wanted to be angry at her - and a part of me, the Shukaku part, was - but I couldn't help but be amused at her question.


I was practically laughing on the inside; a bitter, humorless chuckle.

"I do not have the ability to love."


My name…my purpose in life…the hatred which consumed my soul…the demon which ate away at my personality…

I couldn't love. I couldn't love her. I cared only for myself, lived only for the destruction of others. Affection was a myth…a fairytale. Love was a dream, and I, the insomniac, didn't have the ability to drift off into such blissful imagination.

I stepped closer and grabbed the girl before she could run.

"No, Sakura. I do not love you."

'I do not love you…' Yashamaru… The tears of the past…the pain…the hatred…the heartache… And that hole which ate away at my very being. I wasn't bleeding…but it hurt. It hurt so much.

Medicine… I needed medicine. And only one thing could heal my internal wounds…


Only, my name was Gaara…loveless…hatred. I couldn't love. I am living irony, for in my mind is hatred, while on my brow is love.

But why do I need this girl so much? I don't love her…I have no emotional attachments to her at all. Yet…her touch…was this lust?

No, she did not incite any kind of sexual desire in my body. She wasn't pretty enough for that.

"I don't even lust after you."

Her body was a breath away from mine, close enough to where I could feel the ghost of a touch on my chest and abdomen.

"But I crave what you can give me. I crave touch, and you are the only one who can give me such contact."

My hands moved of their own accord down her arms, resting against her waist in an almost affectionate manner.

She weakened me to a degree no one else could. I needed her, and this fact angered me to no end.

"I hate you."

It was the truth. Right now, in the heat of the moment, in the anger and passion and touch we shared, I would not lie to her.

"I hate you because I need you."

She stiffened, and I found myself gripping her tighter.

"And this hate…this need…it has become my obsession."

'Take her,' Shukaku demanded, and for a moment I let his thoughts overpowers me. I gripped Sakura's waist tightly and pulled her closer, closing the gap between our bodies. Her shocked form was flush against my own, and I couldn't help but shiver at that glorious contact.

'Take her!' the demon commanded again. 'You are the predator, she is the prey! Take her!'

I buried my face in her silky pink hair and marveled at how such softness felt against my skin.

"I am the predator…" I mumbled, lost in a fantasy by her mere presence. "…And you are my prey."

I took her, then. Trapped her. Didn't allow her to escape. I circled my arms around her thin waist, caging my little bird, satisfied at her inability to move.

'Now kill her!' screamed Shukaku, and I sighed almost happily. The sensations around me were euphoric. The touch, the scent of fear, the lust for blood… All worked together to wrap me in a cocoon of warmth.

"I will kill you."

'Yes, yes, yes!'

"I will." I spoke again, confirming this fact in my mind. She would die. I lusted for her blood too much.


I gripped her more tightly and buried my face in her neck. She stiffened, and I was amused. Sighing, I ran my nose along the bottom of her ear, nuzzling it, loving the scent and sensation I felt.

"…But not today. Not yet…"

"P-please…" she whispered, and I shivered in delight at the sound. She was begging. Begging. I loved it when my victims begged. When they trembled for something only I could give them.

I shifted my head, and our cheeks touched lightly. Something wet and cold dripped onto my skin, and I paused for a moment to see what this new thing was. Sakura was leaking. Sakura was…crying?

My breath caught in my throat, and I moved to press my nose against her own. Inhaling deeply, I could smell her fear, and nearly moaned in delight at the sting of such a sweet scent.

Slowly, carefully, my tongue slid out of my mouth and rested gently against a single, glistening tear. It was salty, and tasted of the sea; tasted of a stormy night spent on the edge of a cliff, each moment waiting for you to plunge into the darkness below. It was her pain, and it was the sweetest thing I had ever touched tongue to.

"Your pain…" I mumbled, my voice scratchy. "…It tastes so good…"

I couldn't get enough of it. My tongue moved of it's own accord, raking across her face; wanting to clean her, wanting to devour her. I had the sudden urge to sink my teeth into her skin, to draw blood just to see what it tasted like, but forced myself to control such a feeling.

"Ga-…" I heard her begin, but stopped her with my lips.


A kiss.



Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think, please!