Until You Want Me to Go (GaaNaru)

Part LXIV: What We Leave, What We Keep

The wind was calm that morning.

The sky stretched wide and pale above the sandstone village, and the gates of Sunagakure stood open for departure. The Konoha unit, dressed and ready, stood in quiet formation as they gave parting nods to the Suna shinobi and officials who had come to see them off.

Bags slung. Scrolls secured. Faces calm — though a little heavier than usual.

A few shared quiet goodbyes.

Tenten shook hands with a Suna weaponsmith. Lee saluted a squad of shinobi that had sparred with him. Neji gave a respectful bow to a Suna tactician he had worked with. Sakura offered a final thank-you to the medics who had helped Naruto recover.

But Naruto...

He didn't speak much.

He kept glancing behind him. Once. Then twice. Then again.

Still, the one he was searching for never appeared.

⸻

High above, from the tower's edge, Gaara stood alone, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the wind pulling lightly at his robes.

He watched them walk away.

Watched Naruto walk away.

Saying nothing.

⸻

"Unbelievable," a sharp voice muttered behind him.

He turned.

Temari.

And behind her, Kankurō, arms folded, scowling.

"You're just going to let him leave like that?" Temari snapped. "After everything?"

Gaara stayed quiet.

Kankurō stepped forward. "Gaara... seriously. You think you'll get another chance like this?"

Gaara's jaw clenched.

"You don't understand."

"Don't I?" Kankurō narrowed his eyes. "Because from here, it looks like you're afraid."

Temari softened. "If you care about him... go."

Silence.

Then—

Gaara moved.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and dashed down the stairs, sand stirring violently around his feet.

Temari and Kankurō exchanged the smallest of satisfied looks before hurrying after him.

⸻

The Konoha unit had only made it a short distance beyond the village gates when the wind behind them shifted — sudden and strong.

Sakura turned. "That's—"

Naruto paused mid-sentence, head snapping around.

A ripple of sand kicked up in the distance.

Gaara.

He came fast, silent, cloak streaming behind him like a second shadow.

Neji saw the look on Naruto's face and murmured to the team, "We'll go ahead."

The others nodded, quiet and understanding. One by one, the Konoha team walked further ahead, giving them space — without saying a word.

Naruto stayed behind.

Waiting.

⸻

When Gaara reached him, he didn't speak right away. His chest rose and fell, but his eyes — his eyes — never left Naruto.

"...You came," Naruto said quietly, smiling.

"I couldn't not."

A moment passed.

Naruto stepped closer.

"Didn't want to say goodbye, huh?"

Gaara's voice was lower now. Unsteady.

"I'm not good at it."

Naruto's smile softened. "Me neither."

They stood close, wind curling around them, sunlight glinting off their hitai-ate.

Then Gaara spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I meant everything I said."

"I know."

"I don't want this to end."

Naruto exhaled through his nose. "It won't. Not really."

Gaara finally broke his stillness, reaching up to touch Naruto's shoulder — flesh and prosthetic both — grounding himself in the reality of him.

"I will come to Konoha," Gaara said.

Naruto looked up.

"Promise?"

Gaara nodded. "Soon. Not for politics. Not as Kazekage. Just... as me."

Naruto laughed — not loudly, but full of feeling.

"Then I'll be waiting."

A pause.

Then he added, more quietly:

"You better be worth the wait."

Gaara's eyes flickered, and he smiled — a small, rare curve of his lips that only Naruto ever got to see.

"You always were."

⸻

They didn't hug. They didn't touch more than that single, grounding hold on Naruto's shoulder.

But in that space, in that silence, everything was said.

⸻

From a distance, Temari and Kankurō stood at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the road.

They said nothing.

Just watched their brother turn and walk back into the wind, sand trailing at his feet, while Naruto jogged to catch up with his team — lighter, steadier, and maybe... not as alone as before.

⸻

TO BE CONTINUED